The cold smile never left his lips. He didn't even bother to raise his voice, letting the sheer force of his presence do the work. "Get out."
Ace Griffith's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the lingering whispers with the clean, sharp edge of a razor.
The reporters froze, their cameras held halfway to their faces.
Ivette's face contorted. "Who do you think you are? You defile my daughter and you dare to be so arrogant?"
She lunged forward, her hand clawing, trying to rip the duvet away from Alexandrea, to expose her completely.
Ace moved faster than she could blink. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Ivette's wrist. The grip was precise and unyielding. A pained gasp escaped Ivette's lips.
"Don't. Touch. Her." Each word was a chip of ice.
Alexandrea stared, her breath hitched in her chest. For the first time in ten years, someone was standing between her and Ivette's rage.
Pain flared up Ivette's arm. She struggled, her face a mixture of shock and fury. "Let go of me! Security! Where is the security?"
A veteran reporter in the back of the crowd suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with recognition. "My God... that's... that's Ace Griffith. From the Griffith Corporation."
The name dropped into the room like a bomb.
A wave of stunned silence washed over the crowd. Griffith. As in, the Griffiths. The family that owned half of Manhattan and had more quiet power than royalty.
Ivette's face went from flushed red to a sickly, waxy white. She had schemed and planned, but she never, in her wildest nightmares, imagined the man she'd chosen for her trap would be the heir to the Griffith empire.
Ace released her wrist. Ivette stumbled back, cradling her arm, her eyes filled with a new, raw fear.
He swung his legs off the bed, ignoring his bare chest, and walked to Alexandrea's side. He picked up his suit jacket from the floor, and with a gentle but firm motion, he draped it over her trembling shoulders, enveloping her in its warmth and the faint scent of his cologne. The gesture was so thoroughly protective it made her heart hammer against her ribs.
He turned to face the room, his voice clear and steady. "What happened last night was my fault. I forced myself on Miss Terry."
The room erupted in a collective gasp. Alexandrea's head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Why? Why would he say that? Why would he take the blame?
Ivette was just as stunned. Her plan was to ruin Alexandrea, not to make an enemy of Ace Griffith.
"She did not seduce anyone," Ace continued, his voice unwavering. "She is a victim."
His sharp gaze found Ivette, pinning her in place. "And for a victim, Mrs. Terry, your reaction isn't one of concern. It's... excitement, isn't it?"
The accusation hung in the air, sharp and deadly, slicing through Ivette's carefully constructed facade.
"I... of course I'm concerned!" she stammered, her voice losing its righteous fury. "I was just so angry for her!"
Ace let out a short, cold laugh. He didn't bother to argue with her. Instead, he delivered his final, devastating blow.
"To make amends for my actions, and to take full responsibility for Miss Terry," he paused, letting the silence stretch, his eyes locking with every single person in the room. "I will be marrying her."
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
Alexandrea felt as if lightning had just struck her. Her brain simply shut down. Marrying him? This man she'd just met?
The reporters, recovering from their shock, went into a frenzy. The camera flashes were blinding, a frantic, desperate attempt to capture the headline of the century.
Ivette looked like she was about to faint. She had played with fire and brought down an inferno on herself.
Ace turned to the hotel manager, who had appeared at the door, wringing his hands. "Clear the room. I don't want a single photo or a single word of what happened here today getting out."
The manager, recognizing the power he was facing, bowed his head and immediately began herding the stunned reporters out.
Just before the door closed, Ace's gaze locked onto Ivette one last time. "Mrs. Terry. You and I will be having a talk later."
The implied threat was unmistakable. The room was finally cleared, leaving only the three of them in the wreckage of Ivette's failed plot.
---
