Alexander’s POV“Another one bites the dust. Something must be in the water, with the way everyone around me is suddenly getting hitched,” Christian drawled. “How are things with your blushing bride? Blissful, I hope.”“Cut the crap, Davenport, or I’ll throw you out myself,” I growled. My engagement party was insufferable enough without dealing with him.I was still unsettled from that kiss with Eliana last night, and now I had to make small talk with a bunch of people I didn’t particularly care for.The only thing worse than pretending to be in love with someone was pretending not to want them at all.A wicked smile slashed across Christian’s face. “Not blissful, then.”In the fourteen years I’d known Christian Davenport, not a single one had passed without him inciting me to near murder. It was almost impressive on his part.Instead of strangling him like I wanted, I smoothed a casual hand over my tie. “Compared to your pining? It’s fucking paradise.”His eyes narrowed. “I don’t pin
Chapter Twelve— The Kiss That Shouldn’t Have Happened.I wasn’t expecting him.Not at midnight. Not outside my door.And definitely not shirtless beneath an unzipped hoodie like some uninvited fantasy.But there he was. Leaning against the doorframe like he owned the building, his hair tousled like he’d just woken up—or never gone to sleep.“What do you want?” I asked, crossing my arms over the silk camisole I definitely hadn’t planned on being seen in.His gaze flicked down, once. Controlled. Icy. “You left your itinerary on the kitchen counter.”I blinked. “And you came all the way here to give it back? At midnight?”He held up the paper. “Apparently, it was urgent.”“God forbid I forget my brunch location tomorrow.”His mouth didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed. “Are you always this defensive when someone does something considerate?”“You? Considerate?” I let out a breathless laugh. “That’s rich.”He stepped inside without permission, closing the door behind him like this was his ro
Eliana's POVThe flea market was alive with the sounds of haggling and the faint honks of cabs from the neighboring streets. The scent of churros swirled through the air, and everywhere I looked, I saw an explosion of different colors, textures, and fabrics.I’d been visiting the same market every Saturday for years. It was a treasure trove of inspiration and one-of-a-kind items I couldn’t find in the carefully curated luxury stores, and it never failed to pull me out of a creative rut. It was also my favorite place to visit when I needed to clear my head.Today, however, it did neither of those things.No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the memory of Alexander’s heated gazes or the tingles his touch gave me.It was infuriating.There’d been a moment when I’d liked Alexander, though that might’ve been my loneliness talking.“We’ve been to this stall already,” Katherine said.“Hmm?” I toyed with the fringe on a purple patterned scarf.“This stall. We’ve been here already,” sh
Eliana's POVI never imagined I’d be the kind of woman who baked to decompress.Yet here I was: barefoot in someone else’s penthouse kitchen, elbow-deep in flour, measuring out ingredients like it would somehow help me make sense of my life.To be fair, it wasn’t just someone’s kitchen.It was Alexander Grayson’s.My fiancé. My captor. My contract.And, as far as I knew, very much absent.He’d left for Europe a day after I moved in. No warning. No explanation. Just a clipped announcement over dinner, like he was informing me the garbage collection schedule had changed.“I’ll be gone a month,” he’d said.It’s been two weeks so far.So I adapted.I unpacked. I rearranged. I cooked—not out of affection, but because it gave me something to control. Because it filled the silence with the smell of butter and spice and defiance.And I wore what I liked.Today, that happened to be a silk camisole and a pair of soft, loose satin shorts. Barefoot. Hair pinned up. Flour dusted across my collarbo
Eliana's POVI was a law-abiding citizen, but if anyone could drive me to mariticide, it was my future husband.I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and the mocking way he called me Princess.I hated the way my pulse kicked at the rough span of his hand around my neck.And I hated how he always seemed larger than life, like the molecules of any space he entered had to fold in on themselves to accommodate him.Are. We. Clear?His maddening voice echoed in my head.It was clear, all right. It was clear that Alexander Grayson was Satan in a Tom Ford suit.I forced my lungs to expand past the burn of my anger. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.Only when my blood pressure settled back into semi-human levels did I open the door to my new room instead of hunting down the sharpest knife I could find.As promised, a business card with Alexander’s assistant’s number and a black Amex waited on the nightstand next to a red velvet ring box. When I popped open the lid, a six-carat diamond
Alexander’s POV.I sent Eliana the information she needed for her move at precisely noon on Sunday. Not out of fear she’d cause a scene in front of my building, but out of reluctant admiration for the stunt she’d pulled at my club.It turned out the delicate little rose had some steel in her spine after all.The following weekend, Eliana showed up at my house again, this time with an army of movers in tow.Cora, my housekeeper, and Raymond, my butler, took charge of guiding the movers through the apartment while I led Eliana to her room.Neither of us spoke, and the silence expanded with each step until it became a living, breathing entity between us.Annoyance wormed its way into my chest.Eliana had been perfectly friendly to Cora, Raymond, and the rest of my staff, whom she’d greeted with warm smiles and fucking cookies from Levain. But when she got to me, she’d shut down like I was the one moving into her house and disrupting her carefully planned life.Like I was the one who’d sh