The old Chevrolet tore down the Long Island Expressway. The sky above was a bruised, heavy gray, and the trees blurred into a dark wall outside the window.
Alena's knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the steering wheel.
For two hours, her brain spun in circles. She practiced what she was going to say. She had to find a way to tell her grandfather that the engagement was off without mentioning Katrina, without mentioning the betrayal. She had to protect his heart.
The car finally exited the highway and drove into the ultra-wealthy enclaves of the Hamptons. She turned down a long, private driveway lined with towering oak trees.
At the end of the gravel path sat the Payne family's historic stone estate.
Alena slammed the car into park. She pushed the door open. The salty, freezing air blowing off the Atlantic Ocean hit her face, clearing the fog in her head.
She grabbed her duffel bag and ran up the stone steps. Before she could knock, the heavy oak door swung open.
Beatrice, the family's longtime housekeeper, stood in the doorway. When she saw Alena's pale face and red eyes, her expression softened with worry.
"Miss Alena," Beatrice said gently, reaching for her bag. "Let me take that. Shall I make you some hot tea?"
Alena forced a tight smile and shook her head. She leaned in, keeping her voice low. "Beatrice, is my dad here? Did Devontae arrive yet?"
Beatrice shook her head. "No, Miss. Your father hasn't been here all week. The master has been in his study all morning with a very important guest."
Alena let out a massive exhale. The tension draining from her shoulders made her dizzy. She had beaten her father here. Her grandfather was safe.
"Where is he?" Alena asked.
"In the second-floor study," Beatrice replied, pointing up the grand staircase.
Alena nodded. She walked up the sweeping, carpeted stairs. The portraits of her ancestors stared down at her from the walls, making the air feel thick and oppressive.
She walked down the long hallway and stopped in front of the heavy, carved mahogany door of the study.
She raised her hand to knock.
Suddenly, a loud, booming laugh echoed from inside the room. It was her grandfather. He sounded happier than she had heard him in years.
Then, another voice spoke.
It was a man's voice. Low, magnetic, with a very distinct, lazy arrogance.
The sound of that voice hit Alena's ears, and her blood instantly turned to ice. Her heart stopped beating for a full second.
No, she thought, her stomach dropping into a bottomless pit. It can't be. It's just someone who sounds like him.
Her palms began to sweat. She curled her hand into a fist and knocked twice on the wood.
The conversation inside stopped immediately.
"Come in, it's open," Jerald called out warmly.
Alena grabbed the cold brass handle. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
The study smelled of expensive cigar smoke and old paper. The gray light from the massive windows illuminated the center of the room.
Her grandfather was sitting in his wheelchair next to an antique chess table. He was holding a wooden knight, smiling brightly at her.
Sitting in the leather armchair directly across from him was the guest.
The man slowly turned his head. His dark, predatory eyes locked onto Alena with terrifying precision.
He was wearing a flawless, navy-blue bespoke suit. He sat with the relaxed, dominant posture of a king holding court.
It was Andrew Spencer.
The air vanished from the room. Alena's pupils dilated in pure shock. A loud ringing started in her ears.
Andrew watched her freeze. The corner of his mouth curved up into a microscopic, wicked smirk. He looked like a hunter watching a deer walk directly into a steel trap.
He stood up slowly, buttoning the center button of his suit jacket with one hand. The sheer physical size of him dominated the room.
Jerald didn't notice the silent warfare happening in front of him. He waved Alena over with a proud smile.
"Come here, my little firebird," Jerald said. He gestured to the towering man standing next to the chess board.
"I want you to meet someone very special. This is my brightest student from my days teaching at the Ivy League. He is now the head of the Spencer Syndicate."
Jerald beamed. "Alena, meet Andrew Spencer."
