Chapter 6 The Butt Of A Cosmic Joke

A casual brown trench coat draped over the man's shoulders, subtle yet impossible to overlook. Striking features seemed carved for attention-this was a face that commanded the room without trying. Tousled, ash-gray hair tumbled over his shoulders, lending a devil-may-care air that was both dangerous and magnetic.

The energy in the room spiked the instant he crossed the threshold. Whispers raced across the space, young women visibly struggling to contain their excitement.

"Wait, am I hallucinating? Isn't that Andre Cooper? The racing legend?"

"You mean the youngest person ever to win the Grand Slam? No way-he's even better-looking up close."

Andre Cooper, fully aware of the commotion, offered a gleaming, cocky smile, every bit as daring as his reputation. Just by being there, he managed to make Roger seem utterly forgettable.

"Look at that! It's actually him! And that's his Bugatti VGT out front-the only one of its kind. There's already a crowd forming just to catch a glimpse. Is he really taking a vacation in Afoross?"

With the crowd buzzing, Roger and Marilee sat frozen, shock tightening their expressions.

Andre Cooper? How on earth did Alexia wind up in his orbit? The gap between their worlds couldn't have been wider.

Anyone who'd spent time in show business, like Marilee, knew exactly what Andre meant-global headlines, endorsement deals, and influence beyond her wildest reach. And that same man had just defended Alexia.

And it looked like he was not merely defending her.

Andre locked eyes with Alexia and crossed the floor, heading straight to her without hesitation. With practiced ease, he dropped his hands onto her shoulders.

With a mischievous tilt of his head, he teased, "Are you planning to keep me waiting all day?"

Rolling her eyes, Alexia asked, "Why did you have to come in? I told you to wait."

An exaggerated pout curled Andre's lips. "I've been waiting outside for ages. You think I'd let you deal with these vultures alone?" He tossed Roger one sharp look. "Seems I was right to worry. Guys who pick the wrong women are always hopeless in other ways too."

Roger's temper nearly boiled over, a vein throbbing at his temple as he glared at those hands on Alexia. "Well done, Alexia," he sneered. "Never figured you had it in you. This isn't the guy I chatted with on the phone yesterday. Are you handling more than one man these days?"

A dangerous edge glinted in Andre's eyes, but Alexia didn't so much as blink. "Not everyone has to scrape the bottom of the barrel for company," she retorted, cold and unflappable.

For a second, Roger was speechless. Then he let out a bitter, hollow laugh, his eyes sweeping over Alexia's unapologetically bold look.

"I always pegged you as some buttoned-up housewife, all prim skirts and those dreadful glasses, playing the shy librarian routine. Turns out you had your own party going on in the shadows. Tell me, how much of that little act was for my benefit?"

Alexia didn't waste energy defending herself. "I don't owe you a single explanation. You parade your affair for everyone to see, but I'm not allowed a private life? Don't kid yourself, Roger. We both know what this marriage really is. Spare me the outrage."

Roger's hands balled into fists. He couldn't pretend-he'd always known their marriage was just for show.

That knowledge only fed his fury. Glaring at Andre, he let his words drip poison. "You heard her. She likes collecting men. You think you're something special? Don't flatter yourself. You're just the latest in a long line."

Feigning a look of surprise, Andre brought Alexia's hand to his lips, flashing an over-the-top adoring grin. "Alexia, am I finally worthy of your illustrious roster?"

She shot him a dry, sidelong look. "You're putting words in my mouth."

Andre's grin widened, and he nudged her playfully. "Just say the word. I'd gladly stand in line if it meant a chance with you."

Those words seemed to hang in the air for a beat, leaving every jaw in the room suspended in shock.

Was this for real? The famously aloof racer, usually all icy coolness and edge, now grinning like a fool in love? The scene was almost absurd.

All eyes flicked toward Roger, their pity unmistakable-he looked like the butt of a cosmic joke.

Marilee's teeth dug so hard into her lip that she nearly broke the skin, jealousy seething just beneath the surface.

Roger's face clouded over, his good looks twisted by rage and disbelief. "Alexia, you actually think you can get away with this!"

He shoved back from the table, ready to lunge, but Andre reacted in a flash, catching his arm and twisting it behind him with practiced skill.

Pain twisted Roger's features as he glared up at Andre. "Let me go."

Andre's grin sharpened, taking on a predatory quality as he pressed harder, asking, "Sorry, what was that?"

Frustration boiling over, Roger shouted, "I said let go!" His voice was taut with pain, and his struggle sent glasses tumbling off the table with a crash.

The commotion caught the club manager's eye, but Andre's cool exterior never faltered-only a deadly chill entered his gaze. "You'll have to speak up," he mocked, voice lilting with dangerous ease. "Didn't quite catch that."

A sudden, sickening pop rang out, silencing the room in an instant.

The color drained from Marilee's cheeks, terror freezing her in place. "Stop! Let him go!"

Turning to Alexia, she yelled, "You're really just going to sit there? Do something! Make him stop!"