Chapter 5 Disappointment

ALEXANDER'S POV

The soft hum of the elevator was the only sound as I ascended to the penthouse, my thoughts were jumbled. The events of the evening replayed in my head: Rubby's voice filled with desperation as she pleaded with me to spare the bastard who laid his hands on her. I didn't understand why I reacted that way. I wouldn't touch filth who laid his hands on a woman

My initial plan was to return the slap and warn him off her but when I saw his face, I just had a sudden change of heart. I wanted to see him beg.

Still, I reminded myself of the plan. She was a means to an end. Nothing more. I just needed to keep myself from getting too involved with her. Besides, this happened yesterday, why was I still thinking about it?

The doors opened, revealing the spacious living room glowing in city lights. Mirabelle was waiting, her pacing like a caged tiger betraying her mood. Her silk robe fluttered as she turned, her sharp gaze pinning me in place.

"Alexander," she snapped, her voice lacking its usual sweetness. "Do you care to explain this?"

She held up her phone, the screen glaring with a tabloid headline: "Alexander Wolfe Caught with Mystery Woman-New Flame?" Beneath it, a photo of Rubby and me standing too close for comfort.

It was back in the lounge where that asshole attacked. I didn't think it would be making waves already in just a couple of hours.

I sighed, setting down my coat. "It's not what it looks like."

Her laugh was cold. "Really? Because it looks like you're prancing around with some woman while the whole world watches. How dare you?!"

I moved toward the bar, pouring myself a drink to buy a moment. "She's my fake fiancée," I said finally, taking a small sip of whiskey.

This was going to be a long night and I needed enough alcohol to get through it.

Mirabelle froze, blinking as if she hadn't heard me correctly. "Fake fiancée?" Her voice was low, dangerous. "Explain."

"It's simple," I began, leaning against the bar. "My parents have been pressuring me to settle down. You know how they feel about us."

Her jaw tightened, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palm. "Oh, I know. I've been hearing their disapproval for years. They think I'm...what did they call me? A gold-digging whore with an extravagant lifestyle."

I winced on hearing those words. It hurt me every time they referred to her like that. Sure, Mirabelle had an interesting past but that was then. She was a totally different person now but they wouldn't even give her the chance to prove that. Typical of my own parents.

"Wild and unworthy," I added, my tone bitter. "Their words, not mine."

She flinched, but her eyes burned with defiance. "And this Rubby girl? She's their idea of 'worthy,' I suppose?"

"They don't know her," I said calmly, walking toward her. "She's just a tool. Once they approve of her and hand over the company, it's over. I'll come back to you, and we'll finally live the life we want."

Her silence stretched for a moment before she let out a breathless laugh. "You're serious?"

"As serious as I've ever been," I assured her, placing a hand on her waist.

"You really think they will fall for this?" She asked worriedly.

"Hundred percent," I assured her. I was confident my parents would like someone like Rubby. Well-cultured, soft hearted with charming mischievous naivety. She's perfect for them.

Her expression softened, though her lips pressed into a thin line. "She's beautiful, Alexander. Way too beautiful and I know you see that. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Mirabelle," I said, eyes glinting in amusement as I tilted her chin so her eyes met mine. "You have nothing to worry about. You're the one I love. She's just a business deal. A means to an end."

Her lips curled into a faint smile. "I knew there was a reason I stayed through all this nonsense. You always know how to make me feel special."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Because you are."

Her arms slid around my neck, pulling me closer. "Just promise me one thing," she whispered. "Don't let her get any ideas. I don't share."

"She already knows her place," I replied smoothly, my lips brushing hers.

For a moment, the tension eased, replaced by her warming presence. Her laughter was soft, almost playful now, as she pulled me toward the couch. "Stay with me today. Forget the office, the fake fiancée, and your parents for once."

The vibration of my phone on the coffee table shattered the moment. I checked the screen: The Office.

"Don't answer that," she said firmly, pulling me back down beside her.

"I have to."

"You don't," she countered, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest.

"Mirabelle," I said gently, prying her hand away. "This won't take long."

She huffed, crossing her arms as I stood. "Fine. But you owe me."

Sure enough, it was work and I was needed in the office immediately.

- LATER THAT EVENING -

The office was so busy with people streaming in and out, the emergency meeting dragging on far longer than anticipated. Financial reports, projections, and endless debates filled the hours. It was tiring.

My phone buzzed on the table and I glanced at the ID. Rubby.

I let it ring. A second call followed immediately after. With a muttered apology to the room, I stepped out into the hallway and answered.

"Rubby," I said, keeping my tone neutral, even though it came out somewhat curt. "I'm in a meeting."

"A meeting?" she echoed, her voice rising. "Alexander, you promised you would be here for dinner. My parents are waiting to meet you!"

What? Dinner? Parents? I didn't remember discussing anything of that sort. I even thought it was some sort of emergency.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, "What dinner?"

I tried not to let my impatience seep through my voice. I was in the middle of closing an important deal, and they were all waiting for me. Who did she think she was?

"Is this a joke?" she retorted. "The dinner, Alexander. We planned this!"

That was when it all clicked and I cursed under my breath. I had totally forgotten about it. I was about to apologize when my PA showed up, tapping his watch.

I let out a sigh, "I'll call you back," I told her, and immediately hung up.

Hours later, the meeting was finally over. I left the boardroom, the tension finally easing as the meeting adjourned. I pulled out my phone to call Rubby back when another call came through: Mirabelle.

"Alexander," her voice trembled on the line. "I need you. It's an emergency."

"What happened?"

"Just come home. Please," she pleaded.

Her urgency left no room for argument. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I headed for the car, worried that something terrible was happening.

The ride to the penthouse was a blur. Mirabelle's voice, trembling and urgent, replayed in my head, pushing me to move faster. I imagined the worst... a break-in, an injury, something catastrophic. By the time I reached the penthouse door, my pulse was hammering, and my mind was running wild with worry.

I pushed the door open, and my senses were immediately assaulted. Candlelight flickered against the walls, the faint scent of jasmine and vanilla permeating the air. Confusion replaced urgency as I called out, "Mirabelle?"

Her silhouette appeared at the bedroom door, bathed in the golden light of the candles she had strategically placed throughout the room. My stomach sank, realizing what this was. She wasn't in distress; she was playing me. What the fuck?!

She stood there, draped in crimson silk that barely covered her, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her lips curled into a coy smile, but it did nothing to soften the anger bubbling in my chest. She had ruined my fucking plans and made me miss an important step in my plans!

"Mirabelle," I said sharply, striding toward her. "What the hell is going on? You said it was an emergency!"

I rushed here, thinking she was in some sort of danger, only to see this. A fucking seduction show?

"It is," she purred, taking a step closer. "Alexander, I've barely seen you in days. You're either at the office, with your parents, or off playing house with her. Is it bad for me to want you to myself for a little while?"

Her emphasis on "her" made my jaw tighten. I thought we were over this. Why was she bringing Rubby into this again?

"You lied to me," I said, my voice low and irritated. "You made me leave an important meeting because you were...lonely?"

It made me even angrier. Was I some sort of joke to her?

She arched an eyebrow, unfazed by my tone. "Is that so hard to understand? I needed you, Alex. You're my boyfriend, not the company's errand boy."

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep from snapping and saying unpleasant things that were not necessary at the moment. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with, Mirabelle. I'm trying to juggle everything-my parents, the company, you-and this is how you choose to support me? By causing panic and being a fucking distraction?"

Her expression softened, but her eyes glimmered with something I couldn't decipher. Something mischievous. This woman was far from done.

"You're always so tense," she murmured, stepping closer. "I thought I'd remind you why you come home to me."

Her fingers danced up my chest and despite my frustration, my body betrayed me, responding to her proximity, her scent, and her voice. I couldn't even bring myself to stay angry at her.

"Don't do this," I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

"Do what?" she whispered, leaning in, her lips brushing my ear. "Remind you that I'm the woman you love? That you always want? That no matter what deals you're making or who you're pretending to marry, I'm the one waiting for you at the end of it all?"

Her words, her touch, the way her silk robe slipped from her shoulders... it was all part of her plan, and it was working.

"Mirabelle," I breathed, my resolve slipping as her lips trailed along my jaw.

"Yes?" she murmured, her hands sliding around my neck. Her scent was already messing with my senses.

"You can't keep doing this," I said, but my grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away.

"Doing what?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Loving you? Needing you? Wanting you?"

"Making me worry. If you want me, you say it. Don't trick me into it," I told her.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Her lips found mine, soft and insistent, and any argument I had crumbled. My anger melted away, replaced by something primal and consuming. I could feel my length harden against her delicate touches.

She knew exactly how to get to me, and I hated that I let her, but at that moment, I didn't care.

I loved her after all. What was the harm in giving in?

Her laughter was soft against my lips as she guided me toward the bed, her victory sealed. "That's more like it," she whispered, her fingers tangling in my hair.

I knew I should've been angry, furious, even. But as she pulled me down onto the bed, her body warm and inviting beneath mine, all thoughts of Rubby, the meetings, and even my parents faded into oblivion.

For tonight, Mirabelle had me exactly where she wanted me. And I wanted her too. Desperately.

I took off my shirt and her eyes lit up.

"You are going to wish you hadn't," I whispered, shrugging off my shirt. I turned her over pulling her ass up to me.