Chapter 10 The Wedding Arrangements
His eyes were locked on Mia.
Unblinking. Burning.
He watched Harold’s arm around her shoulders. Watched him pull her closer. Watched her relax—lean into him.
The moment Harold hugged her tighter, Alexander’s hand clenched violently around the steering wheel.
Pain exploded in his chest.
His breath caught sharply as a searing ache spread outward, tightening until it felt like something was crushing him from the inside. His other hand flew to his chest instinctively, fingers digging into his coat as his breathing turned uneven, ragged—rage tangling with something far worse.
He shut his eyes for a brief second.
The pain intensified.
When he opened them again, Mia was still there—still wrapped in another man’s arms.
The ache sharpened.
“So this is what heartbreak feels like…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. “It hurts… this much?”
Slowly, his hand slipped from his chest back onto the steering wheel.
“Is this…” His voice was barely audible. “Is this her husband? The new man she married?”
His body locked in place.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t open the door. Couldn’t even step out to confirm it. He sat frozen, rigid, staring straight ahead as if his body refused to obey him.
It had taken him so long to find her again.
And now that he finally had…
She was hugging another man right in front of him.
He kept staring, breath shallow, chest burning, unmoving.
Mia eventually pulled back from Harold’s hug and took a small step away.
“How about we have dinner together?” Harold said brightly. “Then I’ll drop you home. By the way—where are you staying now?”
“Oh, I’m just—” Mia began, but the words caught in her throat and died there.
Her gaze drifted past Harold without meaning to—and froze.
A car sat parked in the distance, half-hidden in the shadows beneath a flickering streetlight. The engine was off, the windows dark.
But she could see him.
James.
He sat in the driver’s seat, one arm resting against the door, his posture unnervingly still. His eyes were locked on her—unblinking, sharp, as if he had been watching her the entire time.
Her body stiffened instantly.
Her spine went rigid.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Panic surged up her chest, squeezing her lungs.
She snapped her gaze back to Harold, heart hammering. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—drag him into this. She didn’t want James anywhere near him.
“Harold…” she said quickly, forcing her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice sounded too light, too rushed. “How about you go home for now?”
She gestured vaguely behind her, words tumbling out faster. “I need to go somewhere. Something important came up. I’ll call you later, okay? Then we can have dinner.”
“I’ll drop you,” Harold said immediately.
He stepped closer, already reaching for the car door handle, concern written all over his face. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t worry about me—I don’t have anything else tonight anyway.”
“No,” Mia said sharply.
She caught herself and softened her tone, though the panic still bled through. “It’s not necessary. I’m fine, Harold. Really. Please… how about you leave first?”
Harold frowned, clearly confused. His eyes searched her face, as if trying to understand what had changed in the last few seconds. After a pause, he nodded slowly.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
He walked to his car, glanced back once more, then drove away.
Only when the sound of his engine faded completely did Mia release the breath she’d been holding.
Her shoulders sagged for half a second—then she straightened, bracing herself.
She turned and walked toward the dark vehicle.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. When she reached the passenger side, her hands were trembling so badly she had to grip the door handle twice before pulling it open.
Unlocked.
She slid inside quickly and shut the door with careful, quiet precision, as if any noise might set something off.
The air inside the car was suffocating—thick with tension, with unspoken rage.
“Mr. Sinclair…” she murmured, her voice low, tight.
She didn’t look at him.
“How did you find out where I work?”
“I have my ways.”
James’s voice was grim, tight—strained by emotion he wasn’t bothering to hide. He turned his head toward her.
His eyes pierced into her profile, sharp and burning.
“You don’t look very pleased to see me,” he said coldly. “Clearly—you will smile at every other man except me.”
Mia’s shoulders stiffened again. Her throat tightened, her jaw clenching as she stared straight ahead.
“Just now…” she whispered, barely audible. “You… you saw it?”
James’s expression darkened instantly. His eyes narrowed, something dangerous flashing through them.
“Was that something I shouldn’t have seen?” he asked, his voice dripping venom. “What were you talking about with him? About your new married life?”
Each word landed like a strike.
“Is he your new husband?” His lips curled. “Are you that anxious to have another man?”
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t even turn toward him.
And her silence only pushed him further over the edge.
His breathing grew rougher, uneven. His chest rose and fell violently as his control unraveled.
“Did you agree to marry him?” he demanded, disgust twisting his face. “Did you divorce me for him?”
He spat the last word like it tasted foul.
“Are you so fucking desperate to run away from me?” His voice rose, shaking. “You want to be with him?!”
Still—nothing.
Mia remained motionless, eyes fixed on the windshield.
That silence destroyed him.
James’s chest heaved. His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing her wrist and yanking it up from her lap. The force jolted her toward him.
“ANSWER ME!” he shouted, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “God fucking dammit, Mia—did you sleep with that motherfucker?!”
The words tore out of him—loud, raw, trembling—jealousy, anger, heartbreak bleeding together without restraint.
Something in her snapped.
Mia turned sharply toward him, fury flashing in her eyes. Her hand lifted—
slap.
The sound echoed inside the car.
His head jerked to the side.
“Don’t talk anymore,” she said coldly, her voice sharp as glass. “If you cannot say anything good, then it’s better you don’t speak at all.”
A bright red handprint bloomed across James’s cheek.
Instead of calming him, it stripped away the last of his restraint.
His jaw clenched hard. His breathing turned harsh, almost feral.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he growled, voice ragged. “You are burning me alive. There is fire in my chest right now.”
His eyes were wild—desperate, broken open.
“The moment I saw you smile at him…” His voice shook. “Do you know how jealous I was? I am jealous to the point I want to kill him right now.”
The words came out erratic, cracking with rage and unbearable jealousy.
Mia stared at him, disbelief and confusion knotting her expression. She didn’t understand what he wanted from her—why he was doing this, why he wouldn’t let go.
Before she could speak—
James suddenly bent forward with a strangled gasp, one hand flying to his chest. His breath stuttered, pain ripping through him as he hunched over.
Mia watched him silently.
Tense. Guarded.
But she didn’t move.
His phone vibrated suddenly, breaking the heavy silence.
The screen lit up on the console.
William.
Mia reached out, picked it up calmly, and pressed it to her ear—her expression cold, detached.
“Your boss’s chest is aching,” she said flatly. “Come here and take care of him.”
William went silent on the other end of the line.
For a split second, there was only the faint sound of his breathing—clearly startled to hear her voice.
“Y-Yes, Miss Bennett…” he said quickly, the words stumbling out in panic. “I—I will be there soon. Please stay with Mr. Sinclair until I arrive.”
Mia didn’t respond.
She ended the call and tossed the phone back onto the console without care. The dull sound echoed inside the car.
Then she turned toward James.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows drawn together in pain.
One hand was still pressed tightly against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as his breathing came out heavy and uneven, each inhale shallow, as if it hurt to take in air.
His head leaned back against the leather seat, sweat glistening along his temple and dampening his hairline.
Yet even like this—even while struggling to breathe—he hadn’t let go of her.
His hand remained wrapped around hers, grip tight and desperate, knuckles pale, as if she were the only thing anchoring him to consciousness.
Mia frowned faintly and tried to pull her hand back.
The moment she moved, his fingers tightened reflexively, holding on even harder.
She inhaled sharply, annoyance flashing through her eyes—but she didn’t fight him again. She simply went still.
She sat there, rigid and silent.
Her face remained expressionless, her gaze fixed forward.
Thankfully, the wait didn’t last long.
Several minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness.
A car sped into the lot, brakes screeching softly as it came to a hurried stop beside them. The driver’s door flew open before the engine was fully off.
William stepped out almost at a run.
He crossed the short distance quickly, his coat forgotten, tie loosened, worry written clearly across his face. He yanked the door open without hesitation and bent down immediately, peering inside.
“Mr. Sinclair?”
That was when Mia finally moved.
She forcefully wrenched her wrist free from James’s grip, the sudden movement making his hand fall limply back onto his lap. She stepped out of the car without sparing him even a glance and immediately started walking away.
“Mrs. Sinclair—” William called out instinctively.
Mia stopped mid-step.
Her back was straight. Her shoulders squared.
She turned slowly, her expression calm but distant, her eyes devoid of warmth.
“I’m not Mrs. Sinclair anymore, William,” she said quietly. “It’s Miss Bennett.”
William froze.