Chapter 12 A Punishment #2
Gavin, who had been silently watching the exchange, leaned back with a faint smirk, clearly enjoying the show. After a moment, he finally exhaled and stood up, “Alright… I’ll let you two recover from… whatever that was.”
He turned to Mia and flashed his signature flirty smile. “Let’s meet again soon.”
Then he stepped back, turned around and walked away, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, disappearing into the throng of dancers and flashing lights without so much as a backward glance.
Hazel leaned toward Mia, her voice low, tinged with disbelief. “Wow… he’s really not getting over you, is he?”
Mia frowned. “What do you mean? He knows I have a husband.”
“That doesn’t seem to be stopping him at all,” Hazel muttered under her breath.
Hazel and Harold exchanged a long, knowing look, shaking their heads in perfect unison.
Just as Mia opened her mouth to respond, a shadow fell across the table.
All three of them looked up.
Alexander stood there.
He was tall and rigid, shoulders squared, his presence swallowing the space around them. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked beneath his skin. His eyes were dark—burning, sharp, locked straight on Mia.
His gaze made the air thicken, pressing down on her chest until breathing felt harder.
Harold’s mouth dropped open. The color drained from his face instantly. He winced, then glanced at Mia with a sheepish, guilty look.
“Uh…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you—I sent a photo to Alexander when I saw Gavin holding your hand.”
Mia’s heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
“You—what?” Her voice came out thin, horrified. She stared at him like he’d just betrayed her. “Why would you do that?”
Harold rubbed the back of his neck, fingers scraping through his hair as he shifted from one foot to the other. His shoulders hunched slightly, posture defensive. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Mia.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered. “I just wanted to make him feel bad for upsetting you. I didn’t think he’d show up this fast.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Hazel suddenly burst out laughing.
Mia flinched and turned toward her at once. Harold did too, blinking in confusion.
Hazel was holding Harold’s phone.
At some point—Mia hadn’t even noticed when—Hazel had picked it up from the table. She sat there with the screen tilted toward herself, eyes lowered, scanning the messages. Her lips twitched as she read, disbelief and amusement mixing on her face.
The chat with Alexander was open.
Right at the top was the photo.
Gavin’s hand wrapped around Mia’s.
Beneath it, the message Harold had sent—still bright and bold on the screen.
‘This is what happens when you upset your wife. Your replacement is already here! Hahahha!’
The words looked louder somehow, the bold font practically screaming off the glass.
Mia’s stomach dropped so suddenly it made her dizzy.
Hazel lifted the phone higher, her wrist tilting so the glowing screen was unmistakably visible to everyone.
The harsh light reflected in her eyes as she burst into even louder laughter, her shoulders shaking, breath coming out in sharp, disbelieving bursts.
She glanced from the phone to Harold, incredulity written all over her face.
“You sent him this text?” she demanded, still laughing. “Are you actually serious right now?”
Harold opened his mouth, clearly about to explain—
But before Mia could even process what was happening, Alexander reached the table.
In one swift motion, he bent down, his grip firm as he lifted Mia cleanly off her feet, and in the next second, her world flipped as she was thrown over his shoulder.
Mia gasped, the air rushing out of her lungs.
She was so shocked she forgot how to breathe. Everything happened too fast—the couch gone beneath her, the floor tilting, her feet leaving the ground before her mind could catch up to what was happening. Her hands instinctively grabbed at his jacket, knuckles whitening.
“Alexander!” she cried, pounding lightly at his shoulders, panic and disbelief lacing her voice as she struggled. “Put me down!”
He didn’t listen.
He didn’t even turn his head.
He didn’t spare Harold or Hazel so much as a glance.
His jaw was locked tight as he carried her straight out of the bar, his steps long and unhesitating.
People stared.
A few gasps. Someone laughed. Someone else muttered something under their breath.
Mia barely noticed.
Her face burned, heart hammering as the noise of the bar blurred into the background.
Outside, the night air hit her skin.
Alexander yanked the car door open and put her inside roughly, the force making her bounce against the seat. She scrambled upright, breath uneven.
“Mr. Graves—” she tried, reaching for the door, fingers brushing the handle as she looked up at him.
He stopped.
Then he shot her a look.
Dark. Furious.
It was the kind of look that sucked the words straight out of her mouth. Her sentence died instantly, her throat tightening as she froze.
Alexander slammed the door shut.
He rounded the car, got into the driver’s seat, and slammed his door just as hard.
The engine roared to life.
The drive back was silent.
Deathly silent.
The kind of silence that crawled under the skin, that pressed against the ears, that tightened around the chest until every breath felt too loud.
Alexander didn’t look at her even once.
His eyes stayed locked on the road, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped near his temple, hands firm on the steering wheel.
Unlike every other time—unlike the drives where he would sneak glances at her at red lights, reach over to lace his fingers through hers, squeeze her hand—this time, there was nothing.
No gentle brushing of his thumb against her knuckles. No quiet questions, no soft words meant only for her.
When the car finally stopped in front of his house, the sudden stillness made Mia tense.
Her fingers tightened around her seatbelt, the fabric biting into her skin as her face went pale with nerves. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest.
Alexander got out immediately, rounded the car, and opened her door before she could even unbuckle herself.
The cold night air rushed in.
He leaned inside, pressed the button, and released her seatbelt with sharp, impatient movements. Before her feet could properly touch the ground, his hand closed around her arm and pulled her out. She stumbled once, and the next second, he bent down and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.
“Mr. Graves, I don’t want to come here—” she protested, her hands pressing weakly against his chest.
He didn’t even look at her.
His jaw was locked tight, his expression dark, eyes fixed straight ahead as he carried her inside. Every step was fast, purposeful, filled with barely contained anger. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud that echoed through the quiet house.
He went straight to the living room and set her down on the couch.
But he didn’t step away.
Instead, he leaned over her, caging her in. One arm slammed down against the back of the couch beside her head. His other hand came up and gripped her face, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. His hold was tight, his thumb digging in.
His eyes burned into hers, dark and stormy, jealousy flashing openly now.
“Did you forget,” Alexander asked quietly, his voice low and deadly calm, “that you are my wife?”
The softness of his tone only made it worse. Beneath it, something violent churned—rage, possessiveness, hurt all tangled together.
Mia swallowed, her chest tight. She gathered what little courage she had left, straightened her back despite the way he loomed over her, and met his gaze without flinching.
“We’re about to get a divorce.”
The change in him was instant.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped along his cheek. His fingers tightened on her face before he caught himself.
“We are not getting a divorce,” he snapped. “You are my wife. And you will live with me until the day we both die.”
His eyes searched her face, scanning every flicker of emotion, anger bleeding into something rawer—something almost desperate.
“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rough now, “why were you sitting there holding his hand?”
“I wasn’t,” Mia said quickly, shaking her head. “It was just a second. He reached out and grabbed it.”
Alexander’s gaze darkened further, jealousy blazing openly now. His grip slid from her face to her jaw, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him.
“If you want a man,” he growled, leaning closer, his breath hot against her lips, “why isn’t it me? Why the hell are you running away from me when I’m trying to get close to you—when I’m trying to be with you?”
“Mr. Graves, we are not—”
She didn’t get to finish.
He bent down and kissed her.
The kiss was fierce, angry, and overwhelming—like he was trying to pour every unsaid emotion into it.
His lips crashed against hers, stealing the breath right out of her lungs, leaving no space for resistance, no room for words.
Her hands curled into his shirt as her body reacted before her mind could stop it.
By the time he pulled back slightly, she was gasping.
His forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard.
“You are my wife,” he said hoarsely, the anger in his voice cracking around the edges. “If you’re going to hold someone’s hand, it will be mine. If you’re going to be with someone, it will be me.”
His hand slid to her waist, gripping possessively.
“And if you’re going to share a bed—” His voice dropped dangerously low. “—it will be my fucking bed.”
Before she could respond, before she could gather her thoughts or her defenses, his lips claimed hers again, silencing everything else.