Alaia tightened her grip on the metal letter opener hidden up her sleeve. She took a deep breath, forcing the cold, calculating look off her face. She let her shoulders slump, softening her features into a mask of pure vulnerability.
She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
The assistant immediately tried to step inside, but Alaia blocked the threshold with her body, her eyes wide and fearful.
The assistant frowned, looking down his nose at her. "Mr. Darrius is waiting in the car downstairs. You are to come with me immediately."
Alaia didn't snap at him. Instead, her eyes instantly welled up with tears. Her lower lip trembled. "Is... is my father here? Did he see the news? Is he here to help me?"
Her voice cracked perfectly. The assistant's eyes flashed with deep contempt, but his rigid posture relaxed. He bought the act completely. She was just a broken, hysterical girl.
"Follow me," he ordered.
Alaia sniffled, grabbing a coat and following him to the elevator.
They descended to the underground parking garage. A massive, black stretch Lincoln was idling in the darkest corner. The bodyguard opened the rear door.
Alaia slid into the backseat. The heavy, suffocating stench of expensive cigar smoke hit her lungs. Darrius Dudley sat in the shadows, his face hard and unforgiving.
He didn't look at her. "You made a spectacular fool of yourself tonight," Darrius spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "You dragged the Dudley name through the mud for a worthless actor."
In her past life, Alaia would have cried and begged for his understanding. Tonight, she just wanted to stab him.
But she needed him. She forced a sob from her throat and threw herself across the seat, grabbing his tailored sleeve.
"Dad, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, letting huge, fat tears roll down her cheeks. "Austen lied to me! I didn't know what to do! I was so scared!"
Darrius yanked his arm away, brushing his sleeve as if she had soiled it. But the pathetic display fed his massive ego. His harsh glare softened just a fraction.
"Stop crying," Darrius commanded. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "The video showed Gabriel Alvarado. How did you get in his car?"
Alaia's heart went cold. There it was. The old fox didn't care about her broken heart; he smelled the money and power attached to Gabriel's name.
She wiped her eyes, playing dumb. "I... I don't know him. He just saw me crying and gave me his coat. We didn't even speak."
Darrius scoffed, clearly not believing her. "Pack your things. You are moving back to the estate tomorrow. The family will handle your PR from now on."
Alaia knew exactly what "handle" meant. He wanted to lock her up, monitor her, and use her as bait to lure Gabriel into a business deal.
But she needed to be inside that toxic house. She needed to reclaim the twenty percent stake in Apex Properties her mother had left her.
She nodded meekly, keeping her eyes glued to the floorboards. "Okay, Dad. I'll be good."
Darrius smirked, satisfied with his absolute control. He gestured to the door. "Get out."
Alaia stepped out into the exhaust-filled garage. The Lincoln sped away. The second the taillights disappeared, the tears vanished from her face. Her expression turned to stone.
She went upstairs and packed a single suitcase, taking only her crucial documents and a few modest dresses.
The next morning, the Dudley family driver picked her up and drove her to the sprawling, opulent estate in Beverly Hills.
Alaia walked into the grand foyer. Her stepmother, Devona Gutierrez, was sitting on a velvet sofa sipping tea. Devona's eyes flicked over Alaia, flashing with undisguised hatred.
Her half-sister, Asia Henson, was lounging nearby, blowing on her freshly painted nails. Asia smirked. "Congratulations, Alaia. You're the biggest joke on the internet today."
Alaia kept her head down. She didn't fight back. She walked over and spoke in a soft, defeated voice. "Aunt Devona. I'm sorry for the trouble. I'll stay out of your way."
Devona blinked, caught off guard by the total surrender. She forced a tight, fake smile. "Just go to your room."
Asia rolled her eyes, bored by the lack of a fight.
A maid led Alaia up the stairs to the smallest, most isolated guest room at the end of the hall.
The door clicked shut. Alaia dropped her suitcase. She walked over to the window, looking down at the perfectly manicured rose garden.
Her fingers brushed against her chest. "Let the games begin," she whispered.
