The CEO's Trap: Reclaiming His Runaway Wife

Alena Griffith pushed open the stall door, her head throbbing.

The heavy brocade of her skirt felt tangled around her legs. She tugged at the fabric, trying to smooth it out, trying to smooth out the nausea churning in her stomach. The client dinner had been a blur of forced smiles and too much wine.

She stumbled toward the row of marble sinks, the cool air of the men's restroom a shock against her flushed skin. Yes, the men's. She'd realized her mistake too late.

She turned the faucet, plunging her hands under the icy stream. The cold shot up her wrists, a welcome sting that cleared a fraction of the fog in her brain.

Alena lifted her head, her gaze drifting to the vast mirror in front of her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Standing behind her, a tall, imposing figure in a perfectly tailored black suit was methodically washing his hands.

The man's eyes met hers in the reflection.

Alena's heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach. It was him. Graves Hammond. The man she would recognize even if he were reduced to ash. Her ex-husband.

She spun around, a desperate need to flee seizing her. But her legs, weakened by shock, felt like jelly.

Graves was faster. He shut off the water, dried his hands with a brisk, efficient motion, and took a single long stride that blocked her only path to the door.

A familiar scent, clean and sharp like cedarwood, enveloped her. Alena took an involuntary step back, her spine hitting the cold edge of the marble sink. There was nowhere left to go.

"Alena."

His voice was deeper than she remembered, rougher, with a tremor she couldn't quite place. "It's really you."

She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze directly. She manufactured a smile-flawless, bright, and utterly devoid of warmth. "Mr. Hammond. It's been a while. If you'll excuse me, you're in my way."

The formal, distant address was a physical blow. His gaze darkened. "Do we have to be like this?"

The sarcasm in her voice was thick enough to taste. "What would you prefer? Should I call you darling? We divorced five years ago. I assume a man of your importance, with so much to remember, hasn't forgotten that."

His Adam's apple bobbed. The Patek Philippe on his wrist, a watch worth more than most people's homes, glinted under the harsh bathroom lights. It was a cold, hard reminder of the world he inhabited, a world that had spat her out.

"I haven't forgotten," he said, his voice thick with a regret that was five years too late. "Alena, what happened back then... I was wrong."

The apology didn't soothe her. It was gasoline on a fire of resentment that had smoldered for years.

A cold laugh escaped her lips. She glanced down at her left hand, at the faint, pale ring of skin on her ring finger, a ghost of a promise he had broken. "An apology? If apologies fixed everything, we wouldn't need police, would we? Mr. Hammond, I have no interest in discussing the past."

"I wanted to see you. I've been looking for you for five years," he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching for hers.

Alena snatched her hand back as if she'd been stung. Her eyes turned to ice.

"Don't," she said, her voice sharp and final. "I have a new life now."

He didn't believe her. The obsession in his eyes was a terrifying, familiar thing. "What new life? Come back to me, Alena. I won't let you go again."

The arrogance, the assumption that she was his for the taking, made her stomach churn again. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"Let me go?" She put the flawless smile back on her face. "Mr. Hammond, you seem to be under a misapprehension."

She let the silence hang for a beat.

"I'm married."

The words hit him like a physical force. Every muscle in his face froze. The storm in his eyes was replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Alena savored his stunned expression, a small, bitter taste of victory on her tongue.

"I said, I'm married. I'm not interested in destroying someone else's family, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't disturb mine."

Her logic was clean, every word a perfectly aimed dart.

She took advantage of his momentary paralysis, ducking under his arm and bolting for the door.

She pulled the heavy door open without a single glance back, the sharp click-clack of her heels on the tile a declaration of her escape.

Graves stood frozen, the only sounds in the cavernous restroom the slow drip of a faucet and the blood roaring in his ears. His eyes, fixed on the door she had disappeared through, slowly turned a burning, furious red.

Alena burst out of the restroom, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She leaned against the cool, paneled wall of the corridor, gasping for air, trying to will her trembling legs to hold her.

The confrontation had drained every last ounce of her strength. She knew Graves. She knew his obsessive nature. He wouldn't believe her. He wouldn't give up.

As if on cue, the heavy door swung open behind her. Graves's tall frame filled the doorway, his eyes, like a hawk's, immediately locking onto her.

Panic flared in her chest. A head-on fight was impossible. She needed a way out. Her hand dove into her clutch, her fingers closing around her phone. Her mind raced.

She scrolled through her contacts, her thumb hovering over a single name: Cole. A flicker of grim determination crossed her face.

Just as Graves started walking toward her, she hit the dial button, pressed the phone to her ear, and turned her body, shielding the screen from his view.

He stopped a few feet away, his brow furrowed as he watched her.

The call connected. Alena's entire demeanor shifted. Her voice, moments ago tight with panic, melted into a warm, liquid honey.

"Hey, honey. Are you done with your work?"

The word "honey" made Graves's face darken instantly. His hands, hanging at his sides, clenched into tight fists.

"Mmm, I'm still out. A client dinner," Alena continued, a hint of a playful pout in her voice. "I'm a little tired. When can you come pick me up?"

She spoke into the phone, but her eyes were watching him, a sliver of her vision catching his thunderous expression. A cold smile touched her lips.

On the other end of the line, Cole Wiley, the mayor of New York City, paused in his office, a stack of documents in front of him. He heard the forced, theatrical quality in her voice and understood immediately.

He played along without missing a beat. "Just finished a meeting," he said, his voice calm and reassuringly magnetic, even through the phone. "Send me the address. I'll be right there."

Alena's voice became even sweeter. "Okay, I'll be waiting. Drive safe. Love you."

She made sure to raise her voice on the last two words, ensuring they carried clearly across the corridor to where Graves stood.

She ended the call and turned, a blissful, happy smile plastered on her face, as if she hadn't just noticed the man in front of her looked ready to commit murder.

"Sorry, Mr. Hammond," she said breezily. "My husband is on his way to pick me up. I should go wait for him by the entrance."

Graves's eyes bored into her, trying to see past the performance. "Your husband? Who is he?"

Alena blinked, her expression a perfect picture of innocence. "I don't see how that's any of your business. We're in the past, remember?"

She sidestepped him and walked toward the restaurant's main entrance. This time, he didn't stop her. He just stood there, his eyes following her, a complex storm of emotions swirling within them.

The moment Alena stepped outside into the cool night air, she felt the sweat on her back. She quickly texted Cole the address.

Inside, Graves watched her go. He pulled out his own phone and dialed his assistant.

"Leo, I need you to find someone," he said, his voice as cold as ice.

"Run a full background check on Alena Griffith. Everything from her five years in London. And her current marital status. I want the most detailed report you can get."

He paused, recalling the name she had used. "And one more thing. Find out if there's a prominent person in New York named Cole who is close to her."

"Yes, Mr. Hammond," Leo's respectful voice replied from the other end.

Graves hung up and stared out at the glittering New York skyline. His eyes were hard, filled with a possessive fire. He didn't believe it. He wouldn't believe that Alena could forget him and marry someone else.

He would find out who this man was.

And he would take back what was his.

Across the street, Alena stared at the reply on her phone: On my way. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her.

She knew she had just dragged her friend into a very messy, very dangerous situation. But for the sake of her revenge, for her own protection, she had no other choice.

Alena waited by the curb for ten minutes, the wine from dinner and the adrenaline from her encounter with Graves making her head spin. She gripped a cold metal railing to steady herself, her face pale under the streetlights.

A gentle voice sounded beside her. "Alena? Are you okay? You look terrible."

She turned to see her boss, Claire Hayes, the firm's sales director. Claire was a chic woman in her forties with a perpetually kind expression.

Seeing a friendly face, Alena's tense shoulders relaxed slightly. "Claire. I'm fine, just had a bit too much to drink."

"Let me give you a ride home," Claire insisted, taking her arm. "It's not safe for you to be alone like this."

Alena was about to politely decline when a sleek black Audi A8 pulled up silently in front of them. The license plate was distinctive-a government plate.

The driver's door opened, and a man in a dark, impeccably tailored suit and rimless glasses got out. He was tall, with a quiet, scholarly air that radiated calm authority.

He walked quickly to Alena's side, smoothly taking over from Claire and pulling Alena into a supportive embrace. His voice was gentle, but held a note of chiding. "Why did you drink so much?"

Alena sagged against his solid chest, inhaling the clean, soap-like scent of his shirt. A sense of safety, however fleeting, settled over her. "Cole. You're here."

Claire looked at the man, her initial surprise melting into a knowing smile. "Ah, so this is 'him'," she teased Alena. "Now I'm not worried."

The comment made Alena's cheeks flush.

Cole nodded politely to Claire. "Thank you for looking after her, Ms. Hayes."

Not far down the street, parked in the shadows, Graves watched the entire scene unfold from the backseat of his black Bentley.

His assistant, Leo, sat in the passenger seat, having just delivered his initial findings. "Sir, we've got a preliminary ID. The man on the phone with Ms. Griffith... it's most likely the current mayor of New York City, Cole Wiley."

Graves's gaze was fixed, a laser beam cutting through the tinted glass, aimed at the man holding Alena. The mayor? She had married the goddamn mayor of New York?

A furious, bitter jealousy burned in his chest. No wonder she was so confident. She had found herself a powerful protector.

He watched as Cole opened the passenger door for Alena, his hand hovering protectively over her head to keep her from bumping it on the frame.

Alena slid into the car without protest. Before closing the door, Cole leaned in and said something that made a small smile grace his lips.

To Graves, the simple, domestic gesture was an intimate, blindingly painful sight. It was confirmation.

The Audi pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the flow of traffic.

Claire waved goodbye and got into her own car.

Graves finally tore his eyes away. The pressure inside the Bentley was suffocating.

"Keep digging," he bit out, the words forced through clenched teeth. "I want to know when they got married. Every detail. I don't want anything missed."

He couldn't accept it. The woman who had once looked at him with such unguarded love and dependence was now nestled in another man's care.

In the front seat, Leo didn't dare breathe, his fingers flying across his tablet to issue the new commands.

Graves leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes. The image of Alena and Cole played over and over in his mind, a hand squeezing his heart until it ached.

He had assumed she would be miserable without him, waiting for him to find her. He had never, in his wildest nightmares, imagined she would simply erase him from her life.

Meanwhile, in the Audi, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Alena leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, rubbing her temples. "Thanks, Cole. I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

Cole drove with steady hands, his eyes on the road. "You saw him, didn't you?" he asked quietly.