Chapter 4

Alana pushed open the door of the walk-in closet. She walked down the hallway and slowly descended the grand spiral staircase.

She wore a deep burgundy, velvet slip dress. The fabric clung to her curves, the hem swaying fluidly against her ankles with every step.

The crystal chandelier above cast a bright light over her bare shoulders and delicate collarbones, making her pale skin look almost luminescent.

In the center of the first-floor living room, Corbin sat on a dark leather sofa. His laptop was open on the coffee table, a video call with his top executives playing on the screen.

He held a crystal glass of whiskey over ice in his right hand. His tie was loosened. He radiated a dark, unapproachable energy.

The sharp click of Alana's heels against the hardwood floor cut through the room. Corbin stopped talking. He looked up.

The moment his eyes landed on her in that red dress, his pupils dilated. His breathing stopped entirely for a full second.

Then, a violent surge of possessiveness and jealousy ripped through his veins, completely destroying his rational mind.

He reached forward and slammed the laptop shut, instantly cutting off the meeting. The bodyguard standing near the doorway flinched and held his breath.

Corbin stared at the dress. His eyes were dark enough to burn a hole straight through the velvet.

His fingers tightened around the crystal whiskey glass. The muscles in his forearm flexed, the veins popping against his skin.

A sharp, loud crack echoed through the silent room.

The thick crystal shattered in his grip. He had crushed it with his bare hand.

Ice cubes, amber liquor, and bright red blood spilled from his palm, dripping onto the expensive rug below. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just stared at his ruined hand with a disturbing, absolute numbness, the thick veins on the back of his hand bulging violently as he silently absorbed the excruciating pain. It was as if the physical agony was entirely eclipsed by the psychological torment ravaging his mind.

Alana stopped on the stairs. Her stomach dropped at the sight of his bleeding hand, but she kept her face perfectly neutral.

Corbin stood up. His massive frame dominated the room. He walked toward the base of the stairs, stopping right below her. He looked up, his jaw feathering with barely contained rage.

"Who are you dressing up to seduce?" he demanded, his voice a lethal, quiet threat.

Alana looked down into his furious eyes. "I am going to the Knox family gala."

The name Knox hit him like a physical blow. His face darkened into a terrifying scowl.

He knew exactly who was going to be at that gala. Jaison Boyd. Alana's ex-fiancé.

Corbin's mind immediately supplied the worst possible scenario. She had spent hours making herself look this beautiful just to go see the man who had betrayed her.

"Are you that desperate?" Corbin sneered, the words dripping with poison. "You're willing to risk your life just to crawl back to your old lover?"

The insult was designed to hurt her. In her past life, she would have screamed at him and thrown something.

This time, Alana just let out a soft sigh.

She reached over to the banister and picked up a thick, black cashmere shawl she had draped there earlier.

While maintaining eye contact with him, she wrapped the shawl tightly around her shoulders, completely covering her chest and arms.

The submissive gesture made the violent storm in Corbin's eyes pause.

Alana walked down the final two steps. She stood on the floor, less than two feet away from him.

She tilted her head up to look at his tense jawline. Her voice was calm and soft.

"I have something I need to do at the gala. It has nothing to do with anyone else."

Corbin looked down at her. His expression remained cold and unforgiving.

"I won't allow you to take a single step outside this estate," he stated flatly. "Unless you drop that ridiculous pride of yours and beg me properly."