Chapter 62

ALINA

“You expect me to sign this?” I snapped, tossing the contract back onto the table like it had just insulted my intelligence.

“Well…” he drawled, not even blinking.

“Donovan over there’s already married, and I do try to avoid breaking up happy homes—at least before lunch.”

He gave a lazy flick of his hand toward the man standing silently off to the side, as if that explained everything.

“Besides,” he added with a smirk, “he’s far too emotionally stable for my taste.”

“And...Leo’s not exactly my type either—too broody, not enough cheekbones. And you—”

His gaze slid over me with exaggerated slowness, like he was critiquing art.

"But you—Just look at yourself. Dressed in white, practically glowing. Like a bride walking into a fairytale—” he mused, his voice laced with mock affection.

“It’s almost romantic, in a twisted sort of way...."

He let out a low chuckle.

“Fairytale stuff, really—if the fairytale was written by someone slightly unhinged.”

He spread his hands with a showman’s flair.

“And me? Obviously devastatingly handsome, tragically available, and sitting across from you with a marriage contract. What did you think this was? A brunch invite?”

He smirked, tapping the folder again.

Her eyes narrowed, disbelief cutting through the shock.

“You’re delusional,” I snapped, the words biting.

“If you think I’m going along with this—whatever twisted fantasy this is—you really don’t know me at all.”

Alexander didn’t flinch.

If anything, that maddening grin deepened—smooth, effortless, completely unfazed.

“Delusional?” he echoed, swirling the whiskey in his glass with lazy amusement.

“Maybe. But tell me, Alina—are you actually upset about the contract… or more offended that I didn’t get down on one knee?”

He paused, letting the silence stretch like a smirk.

“Or is it that you’re just a little disappointed this wasn’t the candlelit rendezvous you imagined when you slipped into that dress?”

He tilted his head, eyes flicking over her like he was reading the fine print of her thoughts.

“Admit it,” he added, voice low and taunting.

“Some part of you thought I was inviting you here to fall at your feet, not hand you a pen.”

A slow, bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and hollow.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Alexander,” I said, arms crossed tightly.

“I wore this dress because that terrifyingly weird woman you sent—what was her name again? Carrington?—showed up at the door with it like it was the crown jewels.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“It wasn’t exactly optional. Not because I was expecting roses or some ridiculous romantic gesture. If it were up to me, I’d have come in pyjamas and a healthy dose of attitude.”

I met his gaze, eyes burning with a mix of defiance and fury.

“So, save your smooth lines. I’m not playing the part you want me to.”

I opened my mouth to give him some more pieces of my mind, but he cut me off, completely ignoring whatever retort I was about to throw at him.

“Let’s not waste any more time with small chit-chat,” Alexander said coolly, his gaze unwavering.

Chit chat?

My life—my entire future—was being dangled in front of me like a bargaining chip, and this man dared to call it chit chat?

I could practically feel my blood pressure spike.

“The contract—it’s binding, legal, and necessary.”

He extended his hand, pen poised and silent but commanding.

“Just sign it already.”

“Seriously! You think you can just kidnap me and then throw a wedding on top like it makes this all neat and tidy?”

His expression didn’t change.

My fingers clenched at my sides.

I hated how calm he was—how sure. Like he already owned me and this was just a formality.

“I’m not signing anything,” I said, my voice low, tight.

Alexander didn’t react—not right away.

He reached for his drink, took a slow sip, and set the glass down with a quiet click that sounded far too final.

“That wasn’t a request,” he said, voice cool as steel

“This isn’t simply about marriage. It’s about protection. Legacy. Control.”

“Control,” I repeated, bitterly.

“Right.”

“You’ll be my wife,” he said, calm as ever.

“In name. In law. That’s all you need to concern yourself with for now.”

I shook my head, eyes darting across the page—my name printed in bold letters, next to his.

The date.

Clauses.

Expectations.

Provisions.

“This is insane. You kidnapped me. Locked me up. And now you want to marry me?”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just took another slow sip from his glass like I hadn’t said something outrageous.

“I prefer the term restructured arrangement,” he said dryly.

“And let’s not pretend I’m the villain for offering you a way out of your father’s mess.”

His eyes flicked to mine, cool and steady.

“Besides, Alina… marriage sounds a lot better than rotting in that basement, doesn’t it?”

I let out a short, humourless laugh.

“You think this is mercy?”

I stepped closer, heat rising in my chest.

“You strip me of everything, lock me up, break me down—and then dress it all up with a pretty little contract and call it salvation?”

I shook my head slowly, jaw tight.

“You’re not offering me freedom, Alexander. You’re just putting a prettier cage around it and calling it a gift.”

I stared him down, disbelief tightening in my chest.

“Why would I marry a man I don’t love? One I can’t even trust?”

Alexander just stood there, watching me—no smirk, no amusement.

Just something razor-sharp settling behind his eyes.

Cold.

Unapologetic.

Dangerous.

“Love?” he repeated slowly, like the word itself was a joke. His voice dropped an octave, rough and final.

“That is not part of the deal.”

He stepped closer, gaze locked on mine.

“And just so we’re fucking clear—I don’t love you either, Alina. I never will. This marriage isn’t about hearts and feelings. It’s about control. Power. Protection. Call it what you fucking want… but don’t call it love.”

He leaned in slightly, voice low and unyielding.

“I don’t believe in fucking love. It’s messy. Weak. People ruin themselves for it. They kill for it, betray for it, fall apart the moment it doesn’t go their way.”

He straightened again, like he was stating an irrefutable fact.

“This—” he gestured toward the contract on the table,

“—is better. It’s clear. No illusions. No fragile hopes or foolish expectations.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“You’ll know exactly where you stand with me. That’s more than most people ever get.”

He stepped closer, voice low and deliberate.

“What I’m offering isn’t a fairytale. It’s protection. Security. A life where no one touches you without my permission. Where no one dares.”

His eyes locked on mine—calm, unreadable, lethal.

“You’re not here because I want a wife. You’re here because you’re useful.”

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound catching in my throat.

“‘Useful,’ huh?” I repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ve been to men like you—and my dear old dad—just some convenient little tool to use, trade, and toss aside when you’re done.”

I took a step closer, a mocking smile curling my lips.

“Well, newsflash: I’m afraid your ‘useful’ little pawn is feeling a bit rebellious today. So, spoiler alert—my answer is a big, fat, absolutely not.”

His gaze sharpened, locking onto mine like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You don’t get to choose here—not really. This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you’re going to accept.”

He leaned in just enough for me to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Say no all you want. But that won’t change a thing.”

He looked down at the contract again, tapping it once with his finger.

“So you can either waste more breath asking questions that don’t matter… or you can accept what this is, a sign, and take what little freedom I’m offering you.”

I let out a sharp laugh—bitter and disbelieving-as I stepped back from the table, arms folded tightly across my chest.

“Wow,” I said, my voice laced with venomous sarcasm.

“How lucky am I? A loveless marriage with a man who kidnapped me, threatened me, and now wants to play husband for power and convenience.”

I shook my head, eyes blazing.

“And here I thought romance was dead.”

I leaned forward just enough to meet his cold stare.

“Well, here's my offer,” I said, each word dripping with fury.

“You can take your precious contract, fold it up real nice, and shove it exactly where the sun doesn’t shine.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

"Are you sure?" He asked calmly

“Yes! My answer stands. No. No... No, A big fat, permanent no!”

Alexander didn’t move at first.

He simply stared at me, eyes flat, unreadable.

Then, slowly—too calmly—he leaned back in his chair and tipped his chin at Leo.

Without a word, Leo reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black phone, and tapped the screen a few times. Then he turned it toward me.

The blood drained from my face.

On the screen was a live feed—grainy but clear enough. The camera panned across a familiar courtyard… the faded mural on the back wall, the garden beds, the rusted swing set.

The orphanage.

My orphanage.

And there, just near the front gate, was she.

Maya.

My oldest friend.

The one who had cried with me in that broken-down place, who had built something out of nothing and now helped raise kids like they were our own..

Three of those kids were with her in the frame—laughing, skipping, completely unaware of the armed men standing in the background.

Men in dark coats. Unmarked vans.

Guns slung casually at their sides.

“I don’t believe you,”

I whispered, but my voice cracked, the lie brittle in my throat.