Chapter 63
ALINA
“I don’t believe you,”
I whispered, but my voice cracked, the lie brittle in my throat.
Alexander finally stood, his movements fluid, unhurried. Like a man who’d done this dance too many times to flinch anymore.
“Oh, I don’t care if you believe me,” he said, voice like frost.
“My men are already there. Guns loaded. Triggers light. And they don’t stop to ask questions—not when I give an order.”
He walked around the table, closing the space between us until I could feel the weight of him—his presence a threat all on its own.
“They don’t care if it’s a woman or a child. They don’t care who screams or begs.”
His voice dropped lower, quieter.
“They only care about the command. And right now… You are the only thing keeping them from turning that place into a graveyard.”
He paused.
“So go ahead,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.
“Say no again. Let’s see how far your principles go when a bullet reaches that little girl before the word finishes leaving your mouth.”
I kept my eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding with every passing second.
Maya was laughing—soft and gentle—as the kids tugged at her sleeves, clinging to her like they always did. Completely unaware of the danger circling around them like wolves.
Men with guns.
My stomach twisted.
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
My fingers dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white. He was really going to do it—he’d put a child in the crosshairs just to watch me fold.
“You bastard,” I whispered, venom laced into every syllable.
Alexander didn’t flinch. His eyes were dark, calm… expectant.
I blinked back the burn rising in my throat, the helpless, searing ache that threatened to split me in two. I wanted to scream, to claw at his smug, cold face until it bled.
But all I could do was sit there—paralysed, torn open—watching the girl I had raised like a sister smile under a sky that might very well be her last.
“You don’t need to do this,” I said hoarsely, voice cracking despite myself.
“They’re just kids.”
He tilted his head, cool as ice.
“And yet here we are.”
I hated him.
"TikTok...."
My knees buckled before I even realised it.
I dropped into the chair by the desk, the weight of it all hitting me like a fist to the chest.
When I finally looked up at Alexander, my voice was barely held together.
“Why? Why do you want this marriage?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Just a slight twitch in his jaw.
Then, cool as ever, he said,
“I have my reasons.”
Reasons?
Alexander moved with slow, deliberate intent, each step measured and quiet as he rounded the desk. There was nothing rushed—only the calm precision of someone who knew he held all the power in the room.
He came to a stop directly in front of me and leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folding over his chest with effortless ease. His eyes locked on mine, unreadable, while my nerves clawed just beneath the surface.
He was close. Too close.
His knees nearly brushed mine, the subtle contact like a jolt to my already frayed nerves.
I sucked in a sharp breath, chest tightening as heat crawled up my neck.
His eyes flicked down—just for a second—to where his knee had grazed mine, then back up to my face, unreadable.
Infuriating. Intoxicating. And entirely too calm for someone playing with matches in a room full of gasoline.
His gaze dragged over my face like he was memorising it—dark, unreadable, and entirely too focused.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. It was something far more dangerous.
His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unblinking, as his hand slowly brushed against mine on the table—just a fleeting touch, but electric enough to send a jolt straight through me.
Like he was daring me to flinch.
Like he wanted to consume me just to prove he could.
My breath caught.
And then—like betrayal—heat bloomed low in my stomach, pulsing between my thighs.
I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard, hating my body for reacting to him of all people.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping back as I moved. Putting space between us. I didn’t care if it made me look weak—I needed air, distance, anything but that suffocating proximity.
Then, his voice cut through the moment, low and sharp:
“Now sign the contract—time’s ticking, and my men are getting bored.”
He pushed the papers aside, clearing a space on the table, then said,
“Everything you own will be mine.”
I scoffed, unable to keep the bitterness out of my laugh.
“Everything I own? Besides that orphanage, I have nothing. So unless you’re planning on taking in forty-seven screaming kids and a busted boiler, good luck with your ‘empire.’”
He didn’t bother answering.
He picked up the pen lying beside the contract, flicking it between his fingers, but his eyes never left me.
Then, suddenly, he slammed it down on the table—the sharp click echoing in the silence.
“Tick tock, Alina. Time’s not on your side.”
My eyes flicked between the pen and Leo’s phone, still showing the live feed.
“You sign,” Alexander said, voice calm—almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.
“And they live. Every last one of them—your precious friend, those wide-eyed orphans, the entire crumbling sanctuary you call an orphanage. They get to keep breathing. And you…”
He leaned closer, eyes locked on mine like a loaded gun.
“As for you… You’ll have your freedom—within reason. Live however you like. I won’t meddle… unless, of course, your actions threaten my reputation. Then I’ll remind you exactly whose name you carry.”
I swallowed hard, then dared to ask,
“Reputation? What about you? I know you’re a playboy… so what happens after the marriage? Will you still be with other women, or do you suddenly turn into Mr. Faithful? Because I’m not signing up to be a placeholder while you keep a revolving door of women.”
He stilled, the line of his jaw tightening. The air shifted.
His eyes—once smug and amused—darkened, the flicker of a smirk dying as something far more dangerous settled in its place.
He chuckled low, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement.
“I like to fuck. Plain and simple. Faithful? Not in my nature—I’m addicted to sex, the chase, the taste, the rush. But don’t worry, I’m not reckless. I know how to be discreet, if that’s what you prefer. ...I fuck when I want, where I want—and if I decide it’s going to be in this house… well, I’d love to promise you won’t hear a thing. But I can’t. I tend to leave women screaming when I’m inside them.
But don’t worry. You’ll be the one that matters—the one with the title. Mrs. Alexander Dimitri.
The rest? Just meaningless fucks and background noise.”
I didn’t flinch.
God knows I wanted to—wanted to scream or throw the nearest object at his smug, filthy mouth. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Instead, I let out a slow, steady breath, forcing my voice to stay even.
“How charming,” I said coldly.
“Really, you should get that stitched on a throw pillow. Or maybe etched into your tombstone.”
I gave a tight, humourless smile.
“Here lies Alexander Dimitri: Fucked everything but a conscience. May his legendary dick finally rest—after a lifetime of being overworked, overhyped, and tragically misguided. ”
Leo laughed out loud, shaking his head.
“Looks like there won’t be another dull day in this house again… things are about to get interesting.”
Alexander didn’t even blink. Instead, a slow grin curved his lips—wicked, knowing.
“Are you jealous?” he asked, voice low, eyes locked onto me like he could read every thought I tried to bury.
“Because if you are...You don’t have to be.”
He stepped closer, the heat radiating off him impossible to ignore.
“My ‘legendary dick,’ as you so poetically put it,” he said with a slow, teasing drawl, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.
“Will be yours whenever you want it. After all, you’ll be my wife.. you get first priority. See? I’m not a complete asshole—I’m generous when I want to be.”
His gaze dipped to my mouth, then slowly back up.
“Just say the word. When and where, sweethea? I’ll make sure you’re screaming louder than all the rest.”
"Ew, save your 'generosity' for someone desperate. I wouldn’t touch your filthy, diseased cock with a twenty-foot pole—so do us both a favour and keep it to yourself and your women...I’ll pass, thanks."
He chuckled darkly, eyes gleaming with amused challenge.
“Filthy and diseased? Harsh words for the man who’s about to own your life. But don’t worry, I’m not contagious—only dangerously irresistible.”
He stepped back, that wicked smirk playing on his lips.
“Suit yourself. The offer stands—whenever you’re ready to admit you want it.”
Then, without breaking eye contact, he picked up the pen and tapped it against the table—once, twice—before setting it down in front of me.
“Now, sign.”