Elara woke up to the smell of freshly brewed espresso and the unsettling realization that she had slept like the dead.
She sat up, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. She was alone in the massive, king-sized bed, but the indentation on the pillow next to hers—and the lingering scent of sandalwood—proved Alexander had spent the night exactly where he said he would.
He hadn't touched her. After that earth-shattering kiss by the window, he had simply ordered her to get some sleep, walking away as if he hadn't just rewired her entire nervous system.
Elara threw off the covers, grabbed a plush robe, and walked out of the master suite.
She stopped dead in her tracks at the entrance to the living room.
The penthouse had been transformed. Six men in immaculate black suits and white gloves stood at attention around the perimeter. In the center of the room, laid out on velvet display tables, were dozens of open briefcases.
They were filled with diamonds. Millions upon millions of dollars' worth of blinding, flawless jewels catching the morning sunlight.
Sitting on the leather sofa, casually sipping a cup of black coffee while reading a financial tablet, was Alexander. He was dressed in a dark, tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking entirely unfazed by the fortune sitting in his living room.
"Good morning, Mrs. Cross," Alexander murmured, his eyes flicking up from the screen to drag slowly over her sleep-tousled hair and the robe tied securely at her waist.
A nervous-looking man in a three-piece suit—presumably the head jeweler of the House of Valerius—stepped forward, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "Mr. Cross, Madam. We brought the entire vault as requested. Tiaras, chokers, tennis bracelets..."
Alexander set his coffee down. "Show me the showstoppers, Valerius. I didn't bring you here to look at trinkets."
Valerius swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he opened a locked, reinforced titanium case at the center table.
"The Crimson Abyss," Valerius breathed reverently.
Elara walked closer, her breath hitching. Resting on the black velvet was a breathtaking necklace. It was a cascade of brilliant-cut diamonds that led down to a massive, flawless teardrop ruby the size of a quail's egg. It looked like a drop of fresh blood suspended in ice.
"It belonged to a European duchess," Valerius explained. "It is entirely unique. Price tag is roughly forty-two million dollars."
Alexander didn't look at the price. He looked at Elara.
He stood up, walking over to the table. Without waiting for the jeweler to offer gloves, Alexander picked up the necklace. The priceless gems looked almost fragile in his large, scarred hands.
"Turn around," he ordered softly.
Elara complied, her heart giving a traitorous flutter as she felt his solid chest brush against her back. He draped the heavy diamonds around her neck. The cold metal sent a shiver down her spine, but it was instantly warmed by the brush of his calloused fingers against the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp.
Alexander leaned down, his lips grazing her ear. "Perfect," he whispered. "It matches the blood you're going to spill tonight."
Elara looked at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. The crimson ruby rested right at the hollow of her collarbone. It didn't make her look like a sweet, innocent bride. It made her look like a dark, untouchable queen.
"We'll take it," Alexander told the jeweler without looking back. "Leave a set of matching earrings and clear out."
8:00 PM. The Grand Azure Hotel.
The annual Vance Charity Gala was a madhouse of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The red carpet was packed with the city's elite, but all the press attention was focused on the golden couple standing near the entrance.
Julian, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, looked devastatingly handsome and utterly heartbroken. He held Chloe's hand tightly. Chloe was wearing a pale pink gown, looking like a supportive, worried angel.
"Mr. Vance!" a reporter shoved a microphone forward. "Rumors are circulating that your engagement to Elara Vance has been called off! Is it true she had a public breakdown at the hotel yesterday?"
Julian offered a tragic, practiced sigh, looking directly into the cameras.
"Please, respect our privacy during this difficult time," Julian said smoothly, his voice laced with manufactured pain. "Elara has been under immense pressure lately. The stress of the company... it broke her. She is not in her right mind. She made some erratic decisions, and we are just praying she gets the psychiatric help she desperately needs."
Chloe dabbed at her dry eyes with a tissue. "My poor sister. We just want her to come home."
"So the rumors of a hostile takeover at Vance Corp are just a result of her breakdown?" another reporter yelled over the noise.
"We are handling it," Julian assured the press, flashing his signature charming smile. "I will not let my fiancé's legacy fall apart because of a temporary mental lapse. I am stepping up to—"
Julian didn't get to finish his sentence.
The chaotic shouting of the press corps suddenly died. The flashbulbs stopped. A heavy, suffocating silence rolled over the red carpet like a thick fog.
Julian frowned, looking past the reporters to see what had interrupted his perfect performance.
Pulling up to the curb, flanked by two black SUVs, was a custom, armored Maybach. It was a vehicle everyone in the city recognized, but one that had never, ever appeared at a public charity gala.
The press parted like the Red Sea, too terrified to even raise their cameras.
Liam stepped out of the front passenger seat. He walked around to the back, his face a mask of cold professionalism, and opened the door.
A collective gasp echoed across the entrance as a stiletto heel, strapped in black silk, stepped onto the pavement.
Elara emerged from the car. She wasn't wearing white. She was wearing a sleek, form-fitting black velvet gown with a daring slit up the thigh. The Crimson Abyss rested against her collarbone, catching the ambient light and reflecting it like a burst of pure fire. She looked breathtaking, ruthless, and completely sane.
Julian's jaw dropped. The microphone slipped from the reporter's hand and clattered to the ground.
But the real shock came a second later.
Alexander Cross stepped out of the Maybach behind her. He adjusted the cuff of his pitch-black tuxedo, his terrifying, dark gaze sweeping over the paralyzed crowd. Then, in front of the entire city's media, the untouchable, cold-blooded billionaire wrapped his arm possessively around Elara's waist and pulled her flush against his side.
Elara looked directly into the camera lenses, a lethal smile curling her red lips.
The hunt had begun.
For Chapter 9, how do you want Elara to drop the bomb? Should she casually reveal the marriage certificate to the press right there on the red carpet, or should she wait until Julian tries to humiliate her inside during his speech on the main stage?