Chapter 7 The Rolex and the Refusal

Alya walked slowly toward the marble console table.

She reached out and picked up the heavy Rolex. The cold metal of the watch band bit into the soft flesh of her palm. It felt dirty, contaminated by the hotel sheets and Angelle's touch.

She turned and walked down the long hallway, pushing open the double doors to Cole's expansive study.

The room smelled of rich leather and expensive scotch. Alya walked straight to his pristine mahogany desk. She placed the watch precisely in the center of the leather blotter, aligning it perfectly.

She turned around and sat down on the dark leather sofa in the corner of the room. Her posture was rigid, her knees pressed tightly together.

She didn't turn on the lamps. She sat in the darkening room, watching the shadows stretch across the floor as the sun set.

Two hours later, the heavy sound of tires crunching aggressively on the gravel driveway broke the silence.

Cole was home.

The front door opened and closed with a loud slam. Heavy, rapid footsteps approached the study.

Cole strode into the room, his hand slapping the wall switch. The bright overhead lights flickered on, momentarily blinding Alya.

His face was dark with suppressed rage. His jaw was locked tight. In his right hand, he held the crumpled stack of divorce papers.

Cole spotted Alya sitting quietly on the sofa. He marched across the room and threw the thick legal document onto the glass coffee table in front of her.

The papers slid across the glass with a sharp hiss.

"What kind of stunt are you pulling?" Cole demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Sending legal documents to my corporate office? Do you know how many people saw this?"

Alya didn't flinch at the flying papers. She didn't look at the document.

She calmly raised her right hand and pointed a single finger toward his desk.

Cole's furious eyes followed her finger. His gaze landed on the Rolex sitting perfectly in the center of his blotter.

A brief flicker of confusion crossed his face before realization hit him like a physical blow. He knew he had left it at the hotel.

Alya spoke, her voice flat and entirely emotionless.

"Your mistress dropped off your belongings," Alya stated, looking him dead in the eye. "I want you to sign those papers."

Cole stared at the watch, then back at Alya. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, genuinely believing he had figured out her entire motive.

He walked over to the sofa. He leaned his heavy hands on the edge of the glass coffee table, looming over her, trapping her in his shadow.

"So this is what it's about," Cole sneered, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Jealousy. You're throwing a legal tantrum because Angelle brought my watch back."

Alya looked up at him. Her eyes were completely devoid of any warmth, any love, any hesitation.

"It's not jealousy, Cole," Alya clarified, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's hygiene."

Cole's jaw tightened violently at the insult. The vein in his neck pulsed.

He reached out, his large hands grabbing her upper arms. He hauled her to her feet with brutal force, forcing her to stand flush against him, face to face.

"Angelle means nothing," Cole gritted out, his fingers digging into her skin. "You are the only Mrs. Vanderbilt-Sterling. You are my wife."

Alya pried his thick fingers off her arms, pushing his hands away. She took a deliberate step backward, creating space between them.

"I don't want the title anymore," she told him, her voice steady.

Cole stepped forward, instantly closing the distance she had just created. He refused to let her retreat.

"You're just throwing a tantrum because I missed the hospital visit," Cole insisted, his arrogance blinding him to reality. "You're acting like a spoiled child."

Alya's voice finally rose. The suppressed emotion cracked through her calm facade.

"My grandfather almost died while you were in a hotel bed with her!" Alya yelled, her chest heaving.

Cole rolled his eyes, completely dismissing her anger.

"I sent Linden with a blank check to cover the inconvenience," Cole stated, his voice dripping with impatience, proving his fundamental, horrifying lack of empathy.

Alya didn't raise her hand. She didn't scream or resort to physical violence. Instead, a cold, empty smile touched the corners of her mouth, freezing the air between them.

"Is that so?" Alya whispered, her voice carrying a chilling, razor-sharp edge that cut through the heavy silence of the study. "So in your eyes, I'm just like your mistress. We are both just women you can buy and dismiss with a blank check. The only difference is the price tag."

Cole froze. The room went dead silent. The sheer, unadulterated apathy in her voice hit him harder than any physical blow ever could.

Slowly, Cole's jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked visibly. A dangerous, predatory glint ignited in his gray eyes, masking a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic.

Unable to formulate a rational response, Cole lunged forward.

He grabbed her waist with both hands, pulling her flush against his hard, muscular chest. He trapped her arms between their bodies, completely immobilizing her.

Cole leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"You are legally bound to me," Cole whispered fiercely, his breath hot against her skin. "And I don't sign bad deals."

Alya struggled violently. She pushed her forearms against his chest, her breathing turning erratic as panic and absolute disgust warred within her stomach.

Cole suddenly released her. He stepped back, straightening his tie and adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened, instantly regaining his cold, terrifying composure.

He reached down and picked up the thick stack of divorce papers from the coffee table.

He didn't tear them. He didn't lose his temper and shred them into pieces. Instead, he flipped through the first few pages with a look of utter, dismissive boredom.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tossed the legal document back onto the glass surface. It landed with a dull thud.

"Stop playing these childish games, Alya," Cole sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "It's pathetic. And quite frankly, it's boring."

Cole casually checked his bare wrist, remembering he wasn't wearing his watch, then looked back at her.

"I have cleared my schedule for the weekend," Cole announced smoothly. "We are going on a yacht trip."

Alya stared at him in pure disbelief. "Are you delusional? I want a divorce, not a vacation."

Cole smirked. He turned toward the study door, his hand on the brass knob.

He threw a final command over his shoulder. "Stop being moody. Pack a bag, Alya. I will accompany you well."