Watching the wall of grief and fear rise in her eyes at the mention of the name, Ace felt a pang of regret. Even his more measured approach had been too much, too soon.
The sharp intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of self-reproach.
He stood up and took a step back from the bed, deliberately creating space between them, trying to appear less like a captor.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice much gentler than before. "That was out of line."
The apology was so unexpected it startled her. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Men like him didn't apologize.
Ace met her gaze directly, his own unwavering and sincere. "Knocking you out and bringing you here was wrong. But I saw no other choice."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "I could not stand by and watch you walk back into a house where you are so obviously being harmed."
At the mention of harm, her eyes flickered. She thought of Ivette's hands, of the scars that she lived with every day.
"I know this is a lot to process," Ace continued, sensing her fragile state. "You have every right to be angry and afraid."
"What do you want from me?" she asked again, her voice low and tired.
This time, Ace gave her a real answer.
"I meant what I said. I want to marry you." He held up a hand as he saw the look of disbelief return to her face. "I know it sounds insane. Just hear me out."
He pulled the chair closer, but not too close, and sat down, creating the atmosphere of a negotiation, not an interrogation.
"First, we are both victims of Ivette Terry's scheme. She wanted to destroy you, and she was more than happy to drag the Griffith name through the mud in the process."
"Right now, every gossip columnist in New York is waiting to see what happens next. If we do nothing, your reputation is annihilated, and I look like a callous billionaire who uses and discards women."
His logic was cold and brutally honest. She couldn't argue with it.
"But," he said, his tone shifting, "if we get married, the narrative changes completely."
"It's no longer a scandal. It's a whirlwind romance. I become the man who takes responsibility, and you, as the future Mrs. Griffith, will have a status and a shield that no one will dare to challenge."
"No one will ever treat you the way Ivette did again. The Terry family will lose all control over you."
He painted a picture for her, a future where she was safe, powerful, and free from the torment of her past. It was a tempting, intoxicating vision.
Alexandrea was silent. She had to admit, the offer was a lifeline.
But one thing still held her back. The contract. Demario.
"Why me?" she finally asked, the question that mattered most. "You could easily clear your name and walk away. Why choose the most complicated option? Why tie yourself to me?"
Ace looked at her, a deep, searching gaze. He could have told her about seeing her save the child, but that would feel like a transaction, like he was holding her goodness over her head.
He chose a different reason. A simpler, more powerful one.
"Because I've chosen you. I want you," he said, his voice low and firm. "Is that reason enough?"
The raw, possessive honesty of his words made her heart skip a beat.
He didn't give her time to overthink it. "I'm not asking you to love me. Think of this as a contract. An alliance. I give you sanctuary and freedom. You give me your hand in marriage. We both get what we need."
Framing it as a transaction, a business deal, made it infinitely easier for her to process. It was a language she understood.
She looked at the man before her. He was powerful, yes, but he was also logical. He had identified their common enemy and proposed a mutual solution.
A tiny, fragile seed of trust began to sprout in the barren ground of her heart.
She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no, either.
"I need time," she whispered. "I need to think."
It was a monumental concession.
