Alexandrea finished her sentence, and her fingers instinctively curled into the silk duvet. She gripped the fabric so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white.
She lowered her eyelashes, staring at the intricate stitching on the blanket. She needed to look anywhere but at Ace Griffith. His gray eyes were too sharp, too invasive. They felt like they could peel back her skin and read the ugly, broken things hiding underneath.
The massive bedroom was suffocatingly quiet. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic hum of the central air conditioning pushing cold air through the vents.
She drew a slow, shaky breath into her lungs. When she finally forced her head up, a defensive, mocking shield had slipped back over her features.
"Sir, everything you are saying... it sounds like a perfectly laid trap," she said, her voice quiet but laced with a bitter edge.
"I cannot fathom why you would risk so much for someone like me. It makes absolutely no sense."
Ace raised a dark eyebrow. He didn't interrupt her. He simply leaned his large frame forward slightly, a silent command for her to keep talking.
"There are thousands of socialites in New York," Alexandrea said, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until she tasted a faint hint of copper. "Why choose a woman whose reputation is already in the gutter?"
She forced herself to use the ugliest words she could find, testing him. "A ruined, scandalous problem who was just caught in bed with a stranger last night?"
Hearing her degrade herself with such casual cruelty caused a deep crease to form between Ace's brows. A flash of unmistakable displeasure darkened his gray eyes.
He stood up abruptly.
His tall, broad-shouldered shadow instantly swallowed Alexandrea where she sat on the mattress.
She flinched, her body shrinking backward against the headboard. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She thought she had finally pushed him too far, that the anger she was so used to seeing in men was about to erupt.
But Ace didn't yell. He didn't strike her.
He simply leaned over, planting both of his large hands flat on the mattress on either side of her hips. He caged her completely within the strong brackets of his arms.
"Reputation?" His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her skin. It carried a weight that left absolutely no room for debate. "I never believe the reputations other people try to shove down my throat."
He stared directly into her wide, panicked eyes. "I only believe what I see with my own two eyes."
Alexandrea froze. Her breath hitched. "What did you see?"
"Three weeks ago. Fifth Avenue. Pouring rain," Ace said slowly, dropping the words into the space between them like heavy stones.
Alexandrea's pupils dilated. The memory hit her chest with the force of a physical blow.
"An out-of-control taxi. A little boy running into the street," Ace continued, his gaze never leaving hers, painting the chaotic scene with brutal precision.
"And a fool in a white dress, without an umbrella, who didn't hesitate for a single second to throw herself into the traffic."
Alexandrea's heart skipped a violent beat. The air vanished from the room. She stared at the man hovering over her, her mind spinning in absolute disbelief.
"You... you were there?" The words trembled past her lips.
Ace nodded once. "I was in the car right behind you. I watched you shield that child with your own body. I watched your arm get torn open on the asphalt."
He lifted one hand from the mattress. He reached out and gently traced the pad of his index finger over the newly healed, raised pink scar on her forearm.
The sudden, warm friction of his skin against hers sent a violent shiver down Alexandrea's spine.
"A girl who would throw her own life away to save a stranger," Ace said, his voice dropping to a rough, devastatingly tender whisper. "Could never be the shameless, ruined woman Ivette claims she is."
A massive, crushing ache swelled in the back of Alexandrea's throat. Her chest seized. For ten years, she had been buried under a mountain of lies and filth. For ten years, she had been a monster in the eyes of the world.
And now, this man had looked right past the mud and saw exactly who she was.
A single tear broke free without warning. It slid down her pale cheek and splashed onto the silk duvet, leaving a dark, wet stain.
Ace let out a heavy sigh. He moved his hand from her arm to her face, using his rough thumb to catch the next tear before it could fall.
"So," he murmured, his thumb resting against her cheekbone. "Do not ever use those words to insult my future wife again."
The thick, iron walls around Alexandrea's heart cracked wide open. A desperate urge to lean into his touch, to let him save her, flooded her veins.
But then, the image of Demario's smiling face flashed behind her eyes. The heavy, suffocating weight of Bret Terry's contract slammed back into her reality.
This sudden, overwhelming warmth was a poison she couldn't afford to touch. Hope was a luxury she could not afford, a fire that would burn her brother first. The warmth of his touch felt like a brand, marking her as a traitor to the only person she had left to protect. The guilt was immediate and suffocating. The moment she let herself rely on it, Demario would be the one to pay the ultimate price. The thought hit her like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing the tiny spark of hope he had just ignited.
Her spine snapped straight. The warmth drained from her body, leaving her stiff and cold under his hands once again.
---
