Chapter 8 I'd Rather Die

The silence in the corridor was absolute. Even the hum of the HVAC seemed to hold its breath.

Alessandra reached into her clutch. Her fingers brushed the cool silk lining until they found the hidden zipper. She pulled out a small, pristine box.

It was identical to the one Ilene had planted, but the plastic seal was unbroken, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Behind it, she pulled out a folded piece of thermal paper. A receipt.

She walked up to Darius. She was close enough to smell the scotch on his breath, close enough to see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. She slapped the receipt against his chest.

"Read it," she commanded.

Darius looked down, reflexively.

GoPuff Courier Service. Pickup: CVS Pharmacy, 5th Ave. Delivery: The Plaza Hotel Coat Check. Time of Purchase: 7:45 PM.

Item: Plan B One-Step. Qty: 1.

7:45 PM. Ten minutes before she had even entered the ballroom. Twenty minutes before the wine was spilled. Thirty minutes before Vivian sent the maid.

Darius's brow furrowed. The timeline didn't fit Ilene's narrative.

Alessandra didn't give him time to process. She ripped the foil off the box. The sound was sharp, tearing through the tension.

She popped the single pill into her palm.

"Darius Brandt," she said, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a rage so ancient it felt like it belonged to the earth itself. "You think I did this for money? For status?"

She took another step. He didn't retreat, but he flinched internally. He could feel the heat radiating off her.

"In this world," she whispered, leaning in so only he could hear the tremor in her breath, "the very last thing I want to do is incubate your legacy. To me, your bloodline isn't a prize. It's a curse."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He had been screamed at, sued, and seduced, but he had never been looked at with such profound, genuine revulsion.

"To prove my innocence," she said, raising the pill, "and to ensure I never have to be tied to you..."

"Don't," Ilene shrieked, realizing her plan was disintegrating. "It's poison! She's acting!"

Alessandra ignored her. She didn't look for water. She didn't hesitate.

She threw the pill into her mouth.

It was chalky and bitter. It stuck to her dry tongue. She forced herself to swallow, her throat convulsing around the dry tablet. It scraped her esophagus, a sharp, physical reminder of her rejection.

She opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue to show the empty cavity.

"Satisfied, Mr. Brandt?"

She swayed slightly. The adrenaline was crashing. Her stomach churned-a psychosomatic reaction to the pill, or maybe just the sheer toxicity of the people around her. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

Darius stared at her. His pupils were blown wide.

He had expected a game. He had expected a negotiation. He hadn't expected this brutal, self-inflicted violence.

She had just poisoned her own body to prove she didn't want him.

A strange sensation twisted in his gut. It wasn't anger anymore. It was a sudden, hollow ache. He looked at her pale face, her defiant eyes, and for the first time in his life, Darius Brandt felt small.

He reached out a hand, instinctively. "Alessandra..."

She slapped his hand away. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. "I'm clean,and I'm done."