Chapter Eight
Alexander
I stepped through the door and let it swing shut.
Claire's ex-boss was too absorbed in his screen to notice me, too comfortable for a man about to be destroyed.
When he finally glanced up, he had the nerve to smirk. "Well, if it isn't the man himself," he said, leaning back. "Guess she’s playing hard to get."
He thought he was clever. That would change. I stayed silent. His brows began to rise a little at a time, as if he was rethinking everything. The weight of my silence had always been more dangerous than words.
The longer I stood without speaking, the more he began to squirm in his chair. He’d seen the latest photos in the press. Claire's pretty, innocent smile on full display. My arm around her waist. A possessive, damning touch. Us both at baby boutiques and seen in and around doctor’s offices.
I finally stepped forward, my gaze steady. "Is this really worth the trouble?"
The calm in my voice unsettled him. I saw it in the way he blinked, in the slight hitch of his breath. "Holy shit," he said, pushing back from his desk. "The man himself thinks I’m a threat."
I waited, measuring every word against his growing desperation. He misread my silence as indecision.
"Did she tell you about our little offer? Guessing you’re not too happy about her playing the field." He was getting cocky again, testing the waters with lies to see if I'd break.
I didn't. Instead, I asked again, "Is this worth the trouble?"
I saw the change then. He wanted to play it cool, but his bravado cracked. "You can’t scare me off. She'll come back once she gets tired of playing house with an ice sculpture like you." He said it like he was sure of it, but the bravado rang hollow.
Ice sculpture. The man couldn’t even must up enough brain cells to come up with a clever insult.
I took another step forward, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Is this worth losing your position and any other comparable positions in this city?"
I knew he didn’t have the spine for a real fight. He wasn’t like me. I was born into war—fought for every inch of my place in the world. This little bastard laughed again, but there was very real fear in his eyes.
My last look at him was cool and final. I walked out without a backward glance. I didn’t need to look to know I’d already won.
When I got back to my office, I let the noise of the city fade away. A clean, sharp focus replaced it. I knew what had to be done. There was only one way to take care of this—no loose ends.
I thought about Claire and how this had all started. Her email, polite but desperate, asking for her old job back working for me. I almost didn’t believe it was really from her. It was one hell of an opportunity. A way to finally have the upper hand at those torturous family dinners and beyond. Claire didn’t know my real reason, or that I’d seen her crush on me when she worked here. She only knew I was her best option. Her last option.
When I proposed the fake marriage, I expected resistance. Shock. Maybe even outrage. Instead, she’d simply listened, her eyes wide and earnest, the kind of sincerity that was almost unnerving. I barely got through the terms before she said yes.
She never questioned why it had to be a wedding, why I needed the pretense of something so serious. But I saw it in her eyes when she signed the contract. She was in trouble. So, I dug deep to find out what motivated her and learned all about her former boss. The medical bills. The debt. I could give her the money she needed. And I did.
As if to convince myself, I remembered Allison, the way she clung to my brother’s arm at dinner. She couldn’t hide the way she looked at Claire. Threatened. Claire was a better pawn than I could’ve hoped. It almost seemed too easy. Her sweetness disarmed everyone. Even me.
The call I’d been expecting finally came through. My assistant's voice was crisp, efficient. She’d never let me down before, and I wasn’t surprised at the report. The ex-boss was breaking under pressure, looking for a way out.
There wouldn’t be one.
I stood by the window, looking out over the skyline, comfortable with the power I'd built. It should have felt like any other strategic victory. I told myself it was about control. Containing loose ends. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was about her.
Claire was getting under my skin in a way I hadn’t anticipated. The way she looked at me, trusting, unknowing, expecting so little and giving so much. There was something intoxicating about it. About her.
I needed to put this behind me. I picked up the phone and made the final call. It didn’t take long. I didn’t even need to use my full arsenal. When I hung up, Claire's ex-boss was finished. Ruined.
This was the kind of victory I should’ve relished. Claire was protected. She’d never have to deal with that man again. No woman working for him ever would again.
But as the decision settled over me, I knew I was lying to myself. This wasn’t just strategy. It wasn’t just control. It was her.
That night, dinner was a study in tension, every fork clink and glass clatter magnified against the silence.
My father’s eyes were on me as he brought up my brother’s wedding, too eager for my reaction. "I think your brother's made a great choice," he said, his gaze probing. I didn't flinch. "I hear it's not official yet," he added. Sweet, oblivious Claire had no idea what was going on. Her presence beside me was a comfort I hadn't expected. I didn’t look at her, but I felt her. I felt everything.
I could also see how my mother shifted, as if she was kicking my father under the table. She had mellowed with age, perhaps worn out from the constant battle of wills.
It took everything I had to keep my expression cold. I refused to give them what they wanted—a crack in my composure, an acknowledgment of how deeply the betrayal still cut. I’d put Claire on my arm to show them all how little I cared.
They didn’t know how good she was at playing her part. I didn't even have to ask. She just slid into the role with a genuine sincerity that seemed so natural to her. A perfect fake.
Allison was sitting across the table, leaning into my brother's side with a gleam in her eye, as if loving every second of the tension, just like my father. These people thrived on chaos, while I wanted anything but. I focused on my plate, every bite tasteless, the heat behind my ribs building slow and dangerous. This weekly family ritual was torture. Claire had become the only reason I could stand it.
As if to prove my point, Claire spoke up. "Dinner is lovely. Thank you so much for having us." Her voice was warm, unaffected by the tension.
My mother smiled at her. "We're just glad you could join us."
"You must give me the recipe," Claire said, genuine interest in her tone. She seemed oblivious to the minefield she was sitting in.
My parents liked her. Everyone liked her. And it was driving my brother insane.
"Where did you say you grew up?" my father asked, leaning forward, engaging in actual conversation.
Claire answered with that same unguarded sincerity. Her presence was as calming as ever, and I hated how much I needed it. Especially now.
I replayed my father's words. It’s not official yet. There was still time. The suggestion that maybe there’d be a second chance. It burned like acid. I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I didn’t look at Claire, but I could sense her concern. It made me want to break something. Maybe just to show I still could.
She was watching me with those soft eyes, the ones that saw too much. As my father's words echoed again and again, I knew I was about to explode. I felt it coming, the burn in my chest, the urge to lash out and end this charade.
And then Claire reached for me.
Her fingers brushed my wrist, firm but comforting. The touch sent a shock through my system, unexpected and disarming. "Alexander," she said quietly, the word just for me.
The room stilled, the table watching in suspended silence.
I didn't want to listen. I didn't want to feel her touch calm the rage inside me. But I did. The fury shifted, moving to some unreachable corner of my mind. It didn’t disappear—it just became something else. Something I couldn’t quite name.
"You're okay," Claire said, her voice steady. "I promise."
The softness in her words, the truth in them, hit me harder than any of my father’s barbs. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, the tightness in my chest easing. The anger cooled, turning into a different kind of heat.
When I finally exhaled, the table seemed to relax all at once. My father watched Claire with a new kind of respect, maybe realizing for the first time that I hadn’t brought just any pawn to the game.
My brother looked at Claire with a new kind of curiosity, one that would wind up with him getting his nose broken if he tried anything.
Allison didn’t hide her scowl.
My mother, though, was smiling. Pure joy radiated from her in a way I hadn’t seen before.
Claire let go of my wrist. She didn’t know how much she'd just won. Or how badly I wanted that touch back.
As the conversation picked up again, I saw my father turn his attention to Claire, treating her almost like family. He laughed at something she said, a genuine, hearty sound.
Allison watched too, looking like she'd swallowed glass.
My brother began hanging on Claire’s every word in a way that got my blood flowing.
And me? I couldn’t stop watching Claire. This sweet, resilient woman I’d thought would be a temporary fix. But she was more than that. More than I’d planned for.
The more I looked at her, the more I realized that the space she'd left when she pulled away was something I wasn’t sure I could stand anymore.
Three days later, I was tempted to lock the door before Jen could walk through it. Instead, I watched Claire let her in. On her wrist was a bracelet I’d bought Claire, and I wanted to remove it by any means necessary.
Claire's sister was relentless. Demanding. Spoiled. And Claire, sweet Claire, was backing down again. I watched from across the room, a strange unease rooting in my chest. She had the power now, even if she didn't see it. I waited for her to back down like she always did, ready to help pick up the pieces if needed, knowing it was only a matter of time.
But then, a miracle. Claire’s voice, stronger than I'd ever heard. “I said no, Jen. It’s not happening.”
Her sister stood there, shocked.
And me? I was just as stunned.
The scene was almost comical. Jen's jaw hung open, unable to process the word she wasn’t used to hearing. I stayed silent, unwilling to interrupt this beautiful moment. I wanted to bring out my phone and record for posterity’s sake.
Jen finally snapped her fish-like open mouth shut. "Mom’s gonna be pissed," she said, trying one last time to push Claire’s buttons.
Claire stood firm. "Tell her I’m sorry. I can't help right now."
Jen left, huffing out the door, clearly at a loss. But it was nothing compared to my shock.
I couldn’t look away from Claire. Her defiance, her strength. She was burning so bright I could barely stand it.
But she didn’t bask in the moment. The second her sister was gone, she let out a long breath, pressing her fingers to her temples. I recognized that gesture. I’d seen it at the office, after she’d signed my proposal, the weight of her decision – and the consequences - hitting her all at once.
I shouldn’t have said anything. I should’ve left her to collect herself. But when she looked up, her eyes meeting mine with some unreadable mix of defiance and vulnerability, I was lost.
"That was interesting." My voice was even, unaffected as always.
"It was necessary." Her response was immediate. Confident. A challenge. She was unlike anyone I’d ever known.
I watched her for a beat too long, feeling something shift between us—something inevitable, something I couldn’t put words to but couldn’t ignore anymore.
And I was done for. I made my way to her, pulling her into my arms, offering the comfort she’d melted me with several times.
Her arms slowly looped around my shoulders, but I was more concerned with my body’s reaction to her… and her noticing. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted a woman, and she was more off limits than any I’d been interested in.
For one second, I imagined what it would be like to lose myself in that need. In her.
“Alexander…” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“We have a problem.”