Chapter Five- His club

Eliana's POV

“I’m sorry. You’re marrying who?”

Katherine’s voice hit an octave only dogs and divas could hear.

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, glancing around the café. “This place is crawling with people who donate to my father’s foundation. If one of them hears I’m being bartered off like a Birkin bag in a tax write-off, he’ll have a full-blown aneurysm.”

“I’m not whispering until you explain to me what the hell is happening.” Katherine leaned over the table like we were conspiring to rob a royal bank. “You’re marrying Alexander Grayson? The Alexander Grayson?”

“That’s what the press release will say,” I murmured, stirring my coffee even though I had no intention of drinking it.

“The same man who once shut down a tech startup by accident and didn’t apologize?”

“It was a strategic acquisition. The founder failed to read the fine print.”

“Oh my God, Eliana. He’s basically a Bond villain with a better skincare routine.”

I gave her a look. “And your point?”

“My point is—since when do you go for emotionally unavailable billionaires with god complexes?”

“Since my father decided he’d rather sell me off to one than risk a minor PR hiccup.”

Katherine blinked. “Okay. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

“I need to sit lower.”

Her chair screeched an inch across the floor as she slumped dramatically. “Eli. No. You cannot be serious. Tell me this is one of those strategic engagement rumors people float to boost stock prices.”

I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “I wish. Unfortunately, it comes with a diamond the size of a macaron and a prenup thicker than a Tolstoy novel.”

Katherine stared at me, wide-eyed. “You actually signed it?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. You once ghosted a guy because he said ‘expresso.’”

“He deserved that.”

“He was hot, Eli.”

“He was illiterate.”

Katherine groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this. You’re really going to marry the Ice King of Manhattan.”

“I don’t have time for a meltdown,” I said, carefully tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “My father made the deal. Alexander agreed. And if I so much as flinch, this entire thing blows up and takes everything I’ve built with it.”

Katherine leaned back, folding her arms. “I hate that you’re saying all of that like it makes perfect sense. Like it’s normal. It’s not. You’re marrying a man you barely know, who probably lists ‘hostile takeover’ as a hobby.”

“I’m aware.”

“You don’t even like him.”

“I don’t have to like him,” I said coolly. “I just have to survive him.”

Katherine’s brows knit. “And what does he get out of this?”

“A distraction. Legitimacy. Whatever demons he’s trying to outmaneuver with a headline about a picture-perfect engagement.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

I paused.

“I’m not okay,” I said. “I’m just handling it.”

Katherine studied me for a long moment, her sarcasm softening into something more serious. “Do you want me to say it?”

“Say what?”

“That you deserve more than this.”

I forced a smile. “Say it after the wedding. Over champagne. Or whiskey. Or while helping me fake my death and start a new life in New Zealand.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand while offering me a small, sympathetic smile.

“You can still change your mind, you know.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I can’t.”

There was a pause. Katherine squeezed my hand once more before pulling away.

“Then at least make him suffer a little.”

I smiled, tight and brittle. “That’s the plan.”

---

Alexander hadn’t answered my calls. Or my emails. Or my extremely polite but increasingly pointed messages from our shared wedding planner. So I showed up at his club.

Some women sent flirty texts. I preferred mildly confrontational drop-ins at exclusive members-only establishments. Same energy, better results.

The Citadel wasn’t just any club. It was the kind of place so exclusive it didn’t have a sign, a website, or a phone number—just a silent nod from a stone-faced doorman and the hush of wealth thick in the air. You didn’t walk into The Citadel unless you belonged. 

Or, in my case, unless you were engaged to someone who did. But they didn’t know that yet.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not on the list. It doesn’t matter whether you’re Mr. Grayson’s mother, sister, or fiancée...” The hostess raised a brow at my bare ring finger. “I can’t let you in without an invitation.”

My smile didn’t falter. “If you call Alexander, he’ll confirm my identity,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure he would. I’d deal with that bridge when we got there. “This is simply an oversight.”

No matter how much I didn’t want to, I knew I had to suck it up and see him, no matter how much he annoyed or unnerved me.

Of course, in order to see him, I had to get into the club.

The hostess’s face reddened. “I assure you, there was no oversight. We are meticulous in—”

“Eliana, there you are.”

An aristocratic British accent cut smoothly through our standoff.

I turned, surprise coasting through me when I saw the handsome man smiling at me. His flawlessly chiseled face and deep, dark eyes would’ve almost been too perfect were it not for the simple black frames lending him a touch of approachability.

“Alexander just texted. He’s looking for you, but you weren’t answering your phone.” He came up beside me and retrieved an elegant cream invitation from his jacket pocket. He handed it to the hostess. “Christian Davenport, plus one. I can bring Ms. Rivera in so we don’t bother Alexander, he's probably busy tonight..”

She glared at me but offered Christian a tight smile.

“Of course, Mr. Davenport. Enjoy the party.” She stepped aside, as did the pair of unsmiling, suited guards behind her.

I waited until we were out of earshot before I turned to Christian with a grateful smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Christian and I weren’t close friends, but we often attended the same parties and chatted whenever we crossed paths. His thoughtful, reserved demeanor was a breath of fresh air in the narcissistic jungle of Manhattan high society.

“You’re welcome.” His formal tone made me smile.

“I’m sure your absence on the list was an oversight on Alexander’s part.” He whisked two glasses of champagne off a passing server’s tray and handed one to me. “Speaking of which, congratulations on your engagement. Or should I say, condolences?”

My smile blossomed into a laugh. “The jury is still out.”

From what I’d heard, Christian and Alexander were friends. I wasn’t sure what Alexander told him about our engagement, but I was erring on the side of caution.

“Smart. Most people treat Alexander like he walks on water.” Christian’s eyes sparkled. “He needs someone to remind him he’s mortal just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, trust me,” I said. “I don’t think he’s a god.”

More like the devil sent to work on my last nerve.

Christian laughed. We made small talk for another few minutes as he led me to Alexander’s lounge, before he excused himself to talk to an old college friend.

Why couldn’t I have ended up with someone like him? He was polite, charming, and rich enough to meet my father’s  standards.

Instead, I was stuck with a brooding man who wouldn’t know good manners if they slapped him in the face.

The door to the lounge opened on a room bathed in soft shadows and warm amber light. Low music played. Glass clinked. And there he was.

Black suit. Black shirt. Black mood, from the looks of it. He sat in a corner armchair like it had been built for him, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a stare that could bend steel.

He looked up when I entered. Didn’t smile. Of course not.

“Eliana.”

I gave him a slow blink. “Wow. Two syllables. I’m touched.”

He set his glass down. “Did you come all the way here just to be sarcastic?”

“I came here because you’re ignoring me. And since passive-aggressive post-it notes aren’t your style, I figured I’d try a more direct approach.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy. I thought being your fiancée might earn me a time slot between your global dominance and your 8 p.m. brooding session.”

He sighed, leaned back, and gestured at the seat across from him. “Sit.”

I stayed standing.

“Why?” I asked. “So you can explain how this arrangement only requires my silence and my signature, not actual communication?”

“I didn’t think a dinner meeting was necessary.”

“You proposed to me.”

He chuckled 

“Technically, I proposed to your father.”

“Oh, great, because that's so much better.” I replied flatly.

I crossed the room and sat down, my spine straight and voice cool.

“We’re engaged.” I stopped beating around the bush and cut straight to the heart of the matter. The faster I got this out of the way, the faster I could leave. “We haven’t exchanged a single word since the dinner even though I’m supposed to move in next week. I don’t expect love declarations and flowers every day”—though that’d be nice—”but I do expect basic courtesy and communication skills. Since you appear incapable of taking the initiative, I did it myself.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered. Something I couldn't quite place. 

Then he smiled.

Alexander’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“That was quite a speech. You certainly didn’t have this much to say at dinner the other night.” The cold steel of his voice melted into rough silk as his gaze swept over me, gathering heat the farther it traveled. “I almost don’t recognize you.”

The intimacy of his double meaning throbbed in my veins and dropped between my legs.

I wore a classic black cocktail dress, heels, and my favorite red lipstick. Diamonds glittered around my neck and on my ears. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, but it was the best I could do when rushing to get ready.

I swallowed before carefully asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His lips curved into something too slow to be a smile, too sharp to be soft.

“It means,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “that you walked into this room looking like sin dressed in diamonds… and now I’m wondering what else you’ve been hiding under all that poise.”

He leaned in, just slightly—enough for his breath to graze my cheek, for his scent to wrap around me like a second skin.

“I remember silence at dinner. I remember practiced smiles and perfect posture. But now…” His eyes dragged down my body with agonizing precision. “Now I see a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing. And I’m trying very hard not to imagine what would happen if you stopped pretending you didn’t want to be caught.”

That voice, that look, that very inconvenient pulse of heat spiraling straight down like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that this man was the enemy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was here to be calm. Cool. Possibly a little bit bitchy. Not… internally combusting because Alexander  just suggested—without actually saying it—that he wanted to peel me out of my self-control like it was lingerie.

I needed to say something smart. Cutting. Devastating.

I straightened, masking my internal chaos with the kind of poise that only came from years of high society events and emotional repression.

Two could play this game.

“I’m not hiding anything,” I said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my dress. “But if you’re that curious, Alexander…” I let the pause hang—sweet, dangerous, deliberate. “You’ll have to earn the privilege.”

His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened.

He didn’t smile. Not really.

But the glint in his eyes told me exactly how entertained he was.

“Earn it?” he repeated, his voice a murmur dipped in velvet and sin. He stood slowly, unhurried, like a man who had all the time in the world to ruin me.

“Darling, I don’t earn. I take.”

He moved closer, and despite my best efforts, my breath hitched—just enough for his gaze to catch it.

“I don’t need permission to see what’s mine,” he murmured, his mouth a breath away from my ear. “But I do enjoy watching you pretend I do.”

My breath caught—audibly, humiliatingly—and I hated how quickly my body responded to him. Like it had been waiting for his voice, his nearness, his heat.

I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve said something cutting, something clever.

But all that came out was a whisper that betrayed me far more than silence ever could.

“…you’re insufferable.”

Even to my own ears, it lacked bite.

His hand didn’t touch me—but I felt the warmth of it hovering near my waist, a promise and a warning all at once.

Why was he saying these things? Isn’t he supposed to hate me? He probably just enjoys toying with me— the heartless bastard.

But why can’t my heart stop pounding at the prospect of his strong body laying on top of mine— or under me.

Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Another silence stretched between us. Tense. Measured.

He chuckled.

Then he moved back to his seat and spoke. “We’re meeting with the event planner tomorrow. Noon.”

I finally exhaled. “Fine. Where?”

“I’ll send my driver.”

“Wonderful. I’ll try to contain my enthusiasm.”

I stood. “Try not to avoid me until then.”

He didn’t respond.

Typical.

But as I walked out, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time. And for a brief second, I wondered if under all that ice, Alexander Grayson was starting to thaw.