02: A Sinister Offer

ALEXA

Like a drowning person, I gasped, jolting awake in bed. My eyes darted around the large unfamiliar room, my heart rate spiking. I could still hear the echoes of gunshots from my dream, the hair on the back of my neck prickling.

I groaned, pressing the heel of my palm against my eye socket. My head felt as though I'd just smashed it against a rock. Gods, I hate hangovers. Drinking last night was definitely a mistake. One I shouldn't have made.

Speaking of last night...

The last thing I remembered was the stranger's piercing blue eyes. Merely thinking about them made me ache in ways I couldn't explain.

Did I sleep with him? I wondered, reaching for the white sheets to push them off my body.

My eyes bulged in their sockets when I saw that I was only wearing a white long-sleeved shirt that definitely belonged to a man. And judging from the delicious scent oozing from it, it belonged to...

"Killian!" I blurted out, stumbling out of bed. Cursing under my breath, I felt around the bed for my phone, and when I finally found it, I breathed a sigh of relief.

But that relief was momentarily cut short when I realized that my battery was too low. I brought a hand to my head in frustration, and just then, I caught sight of the neatly folded dress on the nightstand. My dress.

I hurried over to it, frowning when I saw the note and the business card attached to the dress. The business card had the name 'Killian Cross' in elegant cursive. Apparently, he was the CEO of the Crux Bellator Group.

The handwriting on the note caught my eye. It was pretty, not something you would expect from a man who exuded dark charisma.

I read the note aloud, a frown creasing up my brows.

"No, I did not fuck you despite how badly you tempted me to, you little temptress."

Heat bloomed on my cheeks, but I continued reading anyway.

"You threw up on your dress. I had it washed. I guess old habits die hard. Here I am, cleaning up after your mess. Again."

My brows drew together, confusion sinking into me. Did he know me before?

My heart leapt in my chest. Perhaps he knew what I used to be like before I lost my memory and married Vincent.

"Against your charms, I stand no chance. I came so close to fucking you until you couldn't walk, but if I'm going to touch you, I want you to be aware of every second. I want to brand every moment in your brain, Tesora."

I bit my lower lip, clamping my thighs together when heat curled low in my belly. It was absurd for the stranger to elicit such a reaction from me when he wasn't even in the room with me.

Who the hell was this guy?

"Meet me at the Rosemary suite, 7PM. Don't be late, Tesora. Do not tempt me to spank you over the table."

I dropped the paper, my jaw slackened with disbelief. Who the hell did he think he was?

That question lingered on my mind even as I stepped into the rosemary suite by 6:53PM, knots tightening in my stomach.

My gaze rested on him the instant I stepped into the lobby.

Killian Cross.

How could I not notice him? His presence seemed to envelop the entire space. He was a sight to behold tonight.

Dressed in a black shirt and tailored pants with a long leather coat and gloves, he looked like he belonged on the front page of a men’s beauty magazine.

His eyes found mine, and that dirty smirk of his sent my heart into overdrive. Clearing my throat, I raised my chin and strode towards him, refusing to show how much he affected me.

His smirk lingered on his lips as he rose to his full height.

My breath hitched. He was tall. Probably at least 6'3 ft. I'd been too drunk to notice this the previous night.

In a few strides, he was right in front of me.

"Seven minutes early," Killian drawled, his voice a deep, velvet caress that slid down my spine. "Afraid I'd spank you, Tesora?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to summon fire to cover the tremor in my limbs. "Don't flatter yourself. I just don't like being late."

"Mm." He studied me, his eyes dragging over me like he was already undressing me with his gaze. "That red dress is a bold choice." His eyes dropped to my red lipstick-coated lips. "I like it."

My stomach flipped. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

He leaned in, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath tickled my skin. "But it makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

My cheeks burned. I hated that he was right. I couldn't recall the last time my dead husband had complimented me. No, he just never did.

Still, I felt uneasy by how quickly this stranger was unravelling me.

The tension thickened as we sat. He didn’t touch the wine. Neither did I.

“You brought me here for a reason,” I said coldly. “Let’s get to it.”

Killian rested his gloved hand on the table. “I’m offering you protection.”

My laugh was bitter. “That what you call it now? Is that what this is? Some twisted sugar-daddy contract?”

“No,” he said. “I’m offering marriage. For twelve months.“

My jaw dropped. “You’re insane.”

“People are looking for you, Alexa. Not because of Vincent. Because of you. The version of you that you don’t remember.”

Something cold slithered down my spine. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Killian reached inside his coat and slid a manila envelope across the table.

"Open it," he said.

Reluctantly, I did.

Inside was a surveillance photo. It showed me standing beside a man I didn't recognize. I looked different. Colder. My face was partly hidden by a dark hood. But it was me.

I was holding a gun.

A real gun.

I sucked in a sharp breath. "What... what is this?"

"That photo was taken two years ago in Ukraine. The man beside you is dead now. Shot in the head."

"That's impossible," I whispered. "I was with Vincent. I—"

Killian interrupted me. "You think your memory loss was natural? There are still people who know what you did, and they want you silenced."

My hands trembled. "You're lying."

"I'm offering you protection. Marriage gives you my name, my power. Nobody touches what's mine."

I pushed my chair back abruptly, my wine glass trembling in my hand as my anger flared. "I don't need your protection. I've survived this long without your help, Killian. I didn't ask for this."

His eyes darkened, just a flicker, but it was enough to make me pause. And I caught a glimpse of the danger in his eyes. It unsettled me.

Killian reached for a his phone and passed it to me. On the screen was Sofia. Laughing with a guy at a club.

“Watch closely,” he said.

On screen, a man passed her table. He brushed her jacket, leaving something on it.

A tracker.

“What the hell—”

Killian didn’t blink. “They’re closing in. And the only reason they haven’t found you yet… is me.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why do you even care?”

He stared at me for a long, loaded second. Then he spoke.

“Because you weren’t just someone I knew before the amnesia.”

He leaned in, his eyes locked to mine.

“You belong to me.”

My eyes widened.

I stood, rage and panic crashing into each other in my chest. “You’re lying!”

“You think I’d let you crawl back to your sad little life as Vincent’s widow if you weren’t?”

He rose too, his aura overwhelming and powerful. “You belong to me, Alexa. And I don’t let what’s mine get taken.”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

“You don’t have a choice,” he added darkly. “You never did.”

I grabbed the wine glass and hurled it at his chest. The red liquid exploded across his coat.

He didn’t flinch. He simply looked down at the mess.

Then he looked up and smiled.

“You always do this,” he said softly. “Rage. Denial. Then surrender.”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning, Tesora.”

And then he whispered, "Or I’ll start with Sofia."