Chapter 15: She Started a Scandal

I spent twelve minutes choosing this outfit—not to look pretty for Xavier Beckett, but to show him who I had become. In my burgundy halter, denim skirt, and boots, I looked comfortable and confident; if he expected the shy nineteen-year-old he left behind, he was in for a surprise.

Beckett Holdings screamed wealth with its marble and gold. As I walked in, the executives ignored me and the assistants whispered, their stares fueled by the fact that I clearly didn’t belong.

The receptionist was a polished blonde in a perfectly tailored cream suit. She gave me the kind of smile people use right before they kick you out.

“Good morning,” she said.

“I need to see Xavier Beckett.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her fingers folded on the desk.

“He invited me.”

“I’m sure,” she replied, without even checking her computer. “But the executive lobby is for clients.”

“I am a client.”

She looked me up and down—the skirt, the boots, the leather jacket—and then looked at my face.

“No,” she said softly. “You aren’t.”

A couple of assistants looked over. The receptionist lowered her voice, acting like she was doing me a favor by not embarrassing me.

“If you’re here for a promotion or some social media collab, PR is across the street.”

“I don’t make videos,” I told her.

She gave me this sharp little smile. “Then maybe you’re just another fan.”

I leaned my elbows on the marble counter. “I just need five minutes.”

“Mr. Beckett doesn’t do fangirls,” she said. Someone behind me snorted.

The receptionist leaned in, looking all sweet but condescending. “My advice? Find someone in your own tax bracket.”

I just stared at her for a few seconds. Then, I slowly smiled.

“You know, I actually tried to be nice about this,” I said, stepping back. “One last time: please tell Xavier Beckett that Ravenna Holloway is here.”

She just laughed it off. “I’m not interrupting the Alpha King just because some girl thinks she’s special.”

That was it.

I took another step back and put a hand over my stomach for effect. I made sure my voice was loud enough for everyone in the lobby to hear.

“I really need to talk to Xavier,” I announced.. “…because I’m carrying his baby.”

The receptionist’s face actually turned pale.“What?” she stammered.

A single tear fell as I whispered that he wouldn’t answer my calls. The lobby erupted into chaos; staff panicked, frantically calling legal and HR, wondering if the Board of Directors knew.

Then the private elevator chimed.

Xavier stepped out in a black suit, looking every bit the part. He surveyed the chaos, then his eyes landed on me. I gave him a tiny, subtle wink.

The receptionist rushed toward him, practically trembling. “Mr. Beckett! This woman claims she’s pregnant with your child!”

Xavier didn’t even glance at the receptionist. His eyes locked on mine, cold and unimpressed. “Pregnant?”

He finally looked at the receptionist, voice flat and absolute. “Next time she asks for me, you let her through. Or find another job.”

He closed his fingers around my wrist—firm, possessive, and completely unapologetic—then pulled me toward the elevator without a single glance at the staring crowd. “Office.”

Xavier crossed his arms, leaning back against the rail. “So. Pregnant?”

I shrugged, tugging at my jacket. “Your receptionist didn’t exactly give me a lot of choices.”

“You just started a corporate scandal,” he said smoothly “Do you enjoy creating problems for me, or is this just a talent?”

“I solved an access problem.”

“You probably created three lawsuits.”

I gave him a bright, fake smile. “But I got the meeting.”

He let out a genuine laugh that echoed with a familiHe let out a short, humorless sound that barely qualified as a laugh. “You’re still reckless.”arity that hurt.

As the elevator ascended, the city blurred past the glass and the receptionist shrank into a speck on the marble floor. I caught a security guard’s eye and blew him a sarcastic kiss.

The engine hummed as we climbed. Xavier shifted his weight, watching me through the glass, his amusement sharpening into something else.

“You’ve changed,” he said, watching me with that same cold, assessing stare. “Not necessarily for the better.”

I kept my eyes on the skyline, trying to hide the fact that I was starting to sweat. “So have gas prices.”

“I’m not joking.”

“And I’m not interested in a trip down memory lane.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the executive floor. He stepped out first, and I had to practically jog to keep up with him as we walked down the hall past all that frosted glass.

As soon as we hit the corner office—which was honestly bigger than my whole apartment—all the assistants jumped up from their desks.

“Cancel my next two meetings,” Xavier ordered, not slowing down.

The main assistant paused, her pen hovering over her tablet. “Sir… the delegation from the Royal Territories is already in Conference Room A.”

“They can wait.”

The room went dead silent. Nobody—not in this building, not in the entire territory—made Xavier Beckett keep the Royal Council waiting.

He slammed the heavy double doors shut behind us, the lock engaging with a definitive click. The chaos of the office vanished, leaving just the two of us in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Xavier walked over to his mahogany desk, opened a leather drawer, and pulled out a thick, black folder.

He dropped it on the desk between us.

My smile disappeared. Stamped across the tab in bold silver letters were two words: RAVENNA HOLLOWAY.

His hand lingered on the cover, his fingers resting right over my name.

“My investigators spent three weeks on this,” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned against the desk. He looked up, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “They found almost everything… except the answer to one specific detail.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “So I decided to ask you myself. Don’t waste my time with lies.”