Time seemed to stop. Alena stared at the flawless face inches from hers, the air completely vanishing from her lungs. She thought her hearing had failed her.
For five agonizing seconds, neither of them moved.
Then, survival instinct kicked in. Alena shoved her hands against his solid chest and pushed him away with every ounce of strength she had. She stumbled sideways, almost tripping over the rug.
She looked at him like he was a monster. Her chest heaved, and her voice cracked as she yelled, "Are you out of your mind? We met twelve hours ago in a dirty alley!"
Andrew took a smooth step back. He casually adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket. His face was a mask of terrifying, calculated calm.
He walked over to the bar and picked up a thick, gold-stamped manila folder. He tossed it onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a heavy thud.
"My family's trust fund has a very specific, very archaic clause," Andrew said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I must be married before my thirtieth birthday to gain full control of my shares."
He turned his head and let his eyes slowly drag up and down her body, assessing her like a piece of real estate.
"You have a clean background. You are desperate to escape your family's control. And most importantly..."
He let the sentence hang in the air for a second. A dark, mocking gleam flashed in his eyes.
"You are smart, you have guts, and you are entirely out of options. You are backed into a corner by the very people who should protect you. That makes you the perfect, predictable candidate for a strictly transactional arrangement."
The clinical, transactional way he spoke made Alena's blood boil. She felt like she had just crawled out of one cage only to have a psychopath try to lock her in another.
She didn't even glance at the folder. She grabbed the mug of coffee from the table and hurled the dark liquid straight at the documents.
The hot coffee splashed across the table, soaking into the thick paper of the folder.
Andrew's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek, but he didn't raise his voice. He just watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Alena pointed a shaking finger toward the front door. Even though she was standing in his penthouse, wearing his coat, she refused to back down.
"Keep your disgusting trust fund clauses away from me," she spat, her voice ringing with absolute finality. "My marriage will never be a bargaining chip for anyone's business deal!"
Andrew looked at the fierce, unbroken fire in her eyes. A deep, hidden thrill of admiration flared in his chest. He loved that she fought back. It made the hunt so much better.
He didn't push her. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a heavy, matte-black business card. He held it out between his index and middle fingers.
Alena crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She glued her feet to the floor, refusing to take it.
Andrew let out a low, soft laugh. He stepped forward, closed the distance, and smoothly slid the card into the pocket of the trench coat she was wearing. As he pulled his hand back, his knuckles intentionally brushed against the curve of her waist.
A violent shiver ripped down Alena's spine.
"Don't be so quick to say no, Alena," he murmured, his voice laced with absolute certainty. "When you realize you can't fight the Payne family on your own... you will come to me."
The sheer arrogance in his voice felt like a knife twisting in her gut. She spun on her heel and practically ran toward the entryway. She didn't care that she was still wearing last night's ruined dress underneath the coat. She just needed to breathe real air.
She yanked the heavy front door open and sprinted down the hallway, her bare feet sinking into the carpet.
Andrew stood in the doorway, watching her run. He didn't chase her. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Sam.
"Have a team follow her. Make sure she gets to her apartment safely," Andrew ordered, his voice turning to ice. "And initiate a stress test on Payne Real Estate's supply chain. Cut their credit lines."
Alena slammed her hand against the elevator button. The doors opened, and she threw herself inside.
The moment the doors slid shut, the adrenaline crashed. The rapid descent of the elevator made her stomach drop. She leaned her back against the cold metal wall, sliding down until she was crouching on the floor.
She shoved her hand into the pocket of the coat. Her fingers brushed against the sharp edge of the business card. It felt like it was burning her skin.
She pulled it out, ready to leave it on the floor of the elevator.
But her eyes caught the gold lettering. There was no company name. No title. Just two words written in elegant, sharp script.
Andrew Spencer.
The name hit her brain like a freight train. Spencer. Could he be a part of the same massive financial empire? Was it just a bizarre coincidence, or was this man somehow connected to the very family that Darrin's branch worshipped from the bottom of the ladder?
The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the lobby. The blast of cold air conditioning hit her face, snapping her out of her shock.
She gripped the card so hard it bent. She walked fast out of the hotel, her heart pounding with a new, terrifying realization. She hadn't just met a rich man. She had just crossed paths with a monster.
