Redeeming Alessandre: Claiming the Billionaire ice Queen

ALESSANDREA FEW HOURS EARLIER…I took another swig from the whiskey bottle on my coffee table. The table was littered with unopened bills and legal documents I couldn’t bring myself to look at. With a sigh, I slammed the bottle down on top of one of the envelopes. My head hung low, shame tightening its noose around my neck as I tried my best not to remember everything I’d lost—everything I’d ruined.Tried not to remember her.Another swig.My eyes swept across the dingy apartment I’d been holed up in for the past few days. I hadn’t much of a choice. Being broke and knee-deep in debt would do that to you.The wallpaper had begun to peel, and no matter how hard I’d scrubbed the first week I moved in, the musty stench refused to leave. It had become part of the place like the silence and regret that was deeply embedded in me. I took a deep breath, and once again, my mind betrayed me by drifting back to her. Ophelia Wren. The only woman who had ever truly owned me, before I tore her

ALESSANDREThe world had a tendency to remind you of the things you'd lost especially when it stood before you hung with gold and grace. I stood in the ballroom doorway, my knuckles tight around the rim of an unopened glass of champagne. How did I get it? You might wonder. Well, a man with a drinking problem always finds a way.My eyes were on her, Ophelia as she moved through the room as though she'd been born to rule, but every beat in the room waited for her approval.God.She was a queen and she used to be my queen."She hasn't even looked your direction again," Matteo said from beside me. "Not even a little."“I wouldn't if I were her," I said, trying to sound like her ignoring me didn’t faze me at all. I failed totally at that obviously.Matteo chuckled. "And that’s a fact,” he said. “But man, you'd think you murdered her dog, not bruised her heart.”I glared at him, and he threw up his hands in mock contrition."Okay, okay. Shouldn’t have said that. But still, are you going to

OPHELIAI said nothing on the ride home.Charlotte rode alongside me in the back of the car, her fingers moving rapidly over the screen of her phone, swearing softly to herself in her PR lingo. The tension between us was oppressive, but I needed it. I needed the silence to keep myself from coming apart, and blowing up across the soft leather seat of the car.When we reached my penthouse, I didn't even allow the driver to step out to open the door. I opened the door and ran out, my heels ringing too loudly on the pavement, and stormed into the building.The moment the front door closed behind me, I turned around to face Charlotte."Tell me everything,” I started. “How bad is it?"Charlotte blinked at me. "You sure you want the full version?" she asked."I'm not in the mood for half-truths, Char,” I said. “Just talk. How bad is it?"She sighed and followed me into the living room, dumping her bag on the couch. "Okay. The media thinks you two are back together as we said before,” she beg

OPHELIAI heard three knocks on my door before Charlotte opened it."You're not dressed," she said, blinking at the robe I hadn't bothered to change out of."I'm well aware," I replied."We've got a shoot in an hour,” Charlotte said stepping completely into the room. “The press package goes out at noon."I didn't glance up from the folder in front of me. "Then reschedule."Her heels were muted on the carpet as she walked toward me. "You approved this. It is in the contract.""I agreed to damage control,” I said. “I didn’t agree to cuddling up for some photographer's fantasy."Charlotte exhaled and fell onto the edge of the couch. "Look, I get it. I do,” she didn’t but I didn’t tell her that. “But they've already gotten the move-in leaked. Paparazzi are camping on the sidewalk of his new place. The only way we control the story is by feeding them a version of it that's flashy and controlled."I slammed the folder I was looking through shut."Where is he now?" I demanded."Opposite you

OPHELIA “Don’t stand too close to him,” Charlotte said as she gestured for us to move apart. “I just need you close enough to radiate annoyance, but not so distant that it feels cold.”“Charlotte, really,” I muttered, already tired of this whole charade.“Ophelia, the people love this kind of things,” Charlotte continued. “I just want you guys to be in line with what the investors want. And please,” she pulled us a little bit closer, “I don’t need you guys so far that they think you got a restraining order on him.”With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I stepped into the elevator as its doors slid open.The rooftop restaurant was alive with the shimmer of opulence and old money. The room was filled with the rich and connected and there, at the center of it all—him.Alessandre stood near a grand table, deftly positioned between two investors whose company I generally found exhausting on the best of days. His posture was straight and confident, his suit perfectly tailored, while his crooked