Chapter 3 The Biggest Scam
The fire in her gaze wavered. Her shoulders loosened slightly. She looked away and exhaled, the fight draining out of her breath.
“I already told Anita to prepare dinner for us,” Alexander added, his voice softer now.
Even though she wasn’t looking at him, his hand lifted. His rough palm cupped her cheek, warm and grounding, tilting her face gently back toward him. The touch wasn’t rushed. It was careful. Almost restrained.
“Is there anything special you want to eat?” he asked. “I’ll have it made for you.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered. Then, louder, sharper, “Are we having dinner or not?”
Alexander finally stepped back, giving her space. His hands slid to her waist, steadying her as he lifted her off the table and guided her down until her feet touched the floor. He turned her toward a chair and nudged it out with his foot.
“Sit,” he said. “I’ll bring the food out so we can eat.”
Mia flipped her head away, folding her arms tightly across her chest, her shoulders stiff.
Alexander didn’t say a word.
He turned and walked away.
But as he did, Mia noticed his gaze kept flicking back toward her—once, twice, again—quick, restrained glances, as if he were afraid she might bolt the moment his eyes left her.
That hesitant worry in his expression tugged at something inside her. The tight knot in her chest loosened just a little. She shifted in her chair, her posture easing, and slowly let her arms fall to the table.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying dishes and bowls. He moved quietly, setting each dish down in front of her with care, making sure everything was placed neatly before he began serving.
He filled her plate and slid it toward her.
Mia barely glanced at it before pushing it away.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want to eat bland food.” She pointed toward the spicy buffalo wings across the table. “I want that.”
Alexander didn’t argue.
Without a word, he picked up another plate, added a variety of dishes to it—making sure to include the wings she wanted, then placed both plates in front of her.
Mia stared at him, genuinely surprised by how quiet and obedient he was behaving. He didn’t flinch or even blink at her sharp tone—he simply did exactly what she asked.
Just as he had promised, he remained a gentleman through the entire dinner.
He served her silently, his gaze lifting now and then to check if she was eating. The moment her plate emptied, he refilled it.
When she was finally done, Mia stood up abruptly.
“I’m going to leave now.”
She grabbed her bag and turned away without waiting for his response. She had barely taken a step when Alexander’s hand shot out.
His fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her back toward him.
Before she could react, he pressed a black card into her palm.
“Keep it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Spend whatever you want. Don’t look at the price.”
He folded her fingers over the card with his own.
Mia immediately shoved it back at him, shaking her head. “I don’t want it, Mr. Graves. I don’t want anything from you.”
His gaze darkened as he stared at her. “I’m not giving you anything. This is what you legally already own—as my wife.”
She hesitated, her eyes dropping to the card he still held out to her.
A flicker of thought crossed her mind. ‘I am his wife… does this really belong to me?’
But the confusion lasted only a second.
“No.” She pushed the card back again. “This isn’t mine. I didn’t earn it. I won’t take it.”
She turned to leave.
Alexander caught her wrist again—harder this time—and yanked her back until she was pressed flush against his chest.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned down, his lips close to her ear, his breath brushing her skin. “Only if you behave and take this card,” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, “will I let you go home.”
A shiver ran through her as his breath lingered against her ear.
He pulled back slowly, a smirk playing on his lips—the look of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Mia glared at him.
Drawing in a sharp breath, she snatched the card from his hand, spun on her heel, and stormed toward the exit.
But before she could reach it, Alexander moved fast, stepping in front of her and blocking her path.
He leaned down slightly, his face inches from hers. “Wait here,” he said calmly. “I’m going to get you a sweater. It’s freezing outside.”
He didn’t wait for her answer.
Turning on his heel, he took the stairs two at a time, disappearing into his room.
He grabbed one of his sweaters—thick, black, the softest one, the one he wore most often—and hurried back downstairs.
But when he reached the foyer, his steps slowed.
He looked around.
The space was empty.
She was gone.
Alexander strode out of the house, his steps sharp and hurried, scanning the front yard, the driveway, the empty street. The night air was cold against his skin, but it did nothing to cool the anger burning in his chest.
Then he saw a cab at the far end of the road, its taillights glowing red as it pulled away.
Already gone
“She ordered a cab while we were still having dinner?!” he muttered harshly. “Is she so damn eager to run away?”
His jaw tightened, muscles flexing hard as his teeth clenched together. He dragged in a long, frustrated breath, fingers curling around the sweater still clutched in his hand. The fabric crumpled in his grip before he turned sharply and stormed back inside.
The door shut behind him with a dull thud.
He crossed the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. The sweater in his hand was tossed aside with a sharp flick, landing in a crumpled heap beside him. For a moment, he just sat there, elbows braced on his knees, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
‘Magnus’ flashed across the screen.
The phone rang—once, twice, three times—before the call finally connected.
“My wife is angry with me,” Alexander said the second Magnus picked up. “How do I apologize to her and pacify her?”
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end.
Then Magnus groaned, disbelief thick in his voice. “…This is why you’re calling me? In the middle of the fucking night?”
“Just answer the damn question,” Alexander snapped. “You’re my brother. What use are you otherwise?”
Magnus let out a sharp breath, clearly biting back a curse.
“What the hell do you think you should do? Talk to her properly. And don’t you dare scare her by doing something outrageous,” he warned. “Be careful with everything you do. Isn’t she terrified enough already after finding those photographs?”
Alexander closed his eyes as he dragged in a slow, controlled breath. He forced the anger down—forced everything down.
“I already tried,” he said quietly. “But she’s not ready to listen. She won’t even stay long enough to talk to me.”
His gaze drifted to the empty spot on the couch where Mia had been sitting earlier. His expression hardened, something dark settling into his eyes. “She hasn’t spoken to me properly since she saw those photos.”
He turned his head away, rubbing the back of his neck as tension coiled through his shoulders. His voice dropped, rough and stripped bare.
“She’s trying to leave me,” he murmured, almost to himself. The pain in his voice was raw, unguarded. “I already lost her once. I’m not losing her again.”
***
Mia pushed open the door to a bar on the street, immediately swallowed by noise. Music slammed against the walls, bass vibrating through the floor as people shouted, laughed, and danced under flickering lights.
None of it mattered.
The chaos inside her head was louder.
Alexander.
His voice.
His touch.
Everything that had happened.
Still, the noise dulled it—just a little.
She spotted an empty table tucked near the side and slid into the cushioned seat, sinking back like her body had finally given up holding itself together. A waiter appeared almost instantly, setting down a tray of cocktails in a bucket of ice at the center of the table.
“Enjoy,” he said before walking away.
Mia grabbed the nearest glass and drained it without thinking. The alcohol hit fast—warm, heavy, dizzying—curling through her veins. She reached for the second drink, her fingers tightening around the glass as memories crashed back into her mind with every swallow.
His words.
His face.
And then the album she had seen—
A violent shiver tore through her body.
Cold crept up her spine, slicing clean through the haze of alcohol. She shook her head hard, sucked in a breath, and drank again, as if she could drown the images before they swallowed her whole.
Her vision blurred slightly, her thoughts slipping in and out, when a shadow fell across the table.
A man dropped into the seat opposite her without asking.
“Hey,” he said, flashing a lazy grin as his eyes dragged over her in a slow, sleazy scan. “Drinking alone?”
He lifted his beer and clinked it against her glass without permission, then leaned back like he owned the space. “I’ve got some friends over there.” He jerked his chin toward a group of equally drunk men openly watching her. “You should join us.”
Mia frowned, irritation flashing across her face as she waved her glass dismissively. “I’m not interested. I want to be alone. Please leave my table.”
The man snorted. “Come on, sweetheart. No one wants to be alone in a bar.”
He stood abruptly and slid into the seat beside her, invading her space. One arm dropped behind her against the back of the couch, boxing her in. The other hand reached straight for her drink.
Before Mia could react, he snatched the glass from her fingers and took a long swig.
Then he leaned closer, his breath reeking of cheap beer as his gaze locked onto hers.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to have a good time.”
Mia visibly cringed, her face twisting with unmistakable disgust as she turned her head away from him, her shoulders tightening.
The man either didn’t notice—or didn’t care.