23: Bribery
ALEXA
One moment, the monster from my past was standing there, smirking at me. The next, he was gone without a trace. I caught sight of my reflection in a nearby mirror, and shame shrouded me instantly. I looked broken, my brown eyes wild and haunted. In my head, Vincent was there again, telling me that I was too broken to shine. Nausea swept through me, and I bolted.
I rushed out of the set, barefoot, running past confused assistants and stunned designers. The panic drowned everything else. I couldn't bring myself to care.
Outside, the cold slapped my skin. I collapsed against a stone wall, gasping for air. Tears prickled my eyes, my whole body shaking with fear. I lost track of time and my surroundings. The assistants might have tried to get me to calm down, but the bitter memories were hitting harder than ever.
I don't know how long I stayed there. But at one point, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
A tall figure walked up to me, and I squinted at him through the haze.
Killian.
He was wearing a long dark coat over his black shirt and tailored pants. His eyes sparkled like a frozen lake in winter.
He didn't ask what had happened or even make a sound. All he did was crouch beside me, one hand braced on his knee. He watched me intently with a gaze so tender, it took my breath away.
I tried to speak but failed.
Killian didn't push me still. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and held out a wrapped chocolate bar to me.
My brows furrowed. "What the hell is that?"
"Bribery," he said in a low voice. "It's what you give a scared animal when it's cornered."
I blinked. I could've hissed at him and told him I wasn't an animal. But I didn't.
"I'm not—" My voice cracked. "I'm not scared."
His gaze didn't move. "No. You're surviving."
I gulped.
"And that's much harder," he added.
Those words hit me hard because he was right. All my life, at least the one I remembered living, I'd been doing nothing but surviving.
I let out a broken, watery laugh that was a mix of a half sob and half choke.
He stayed there, beside me in the cold, until my breathing evened out.
Not once did he look away.
Not once did he tell me to toughen up.
He just sat with my ghosts as though he knew them too.
...
Thereafter, when I was ready to resume my job, I didn't expect him to stay.
But Killian lingered through every damn shot.
He watched me from a corner of the studio, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make my knees weak. His gaze didn't drift away, not even once. It wasn't the polite attention of a bored escort, it was searing, loaded, and hungry.
And somehow... it made me bolder.
I arched more. I held eye contact with the camera for much longer and I moved with slow elegance. Every pose, every tilt of my chin, was an art of seduction. It was nearly the same as me daring him to drag me off set and ruin me.
He didn't.
But I felt the promise in his stare.
...
Later, when the day bled into twilight, he waited for me just outside the building.
I walked out in his oversized black coat, which he'd actually given to one of the assistants. He'd made sure she handed it over to me. The air had turned crisp. Two black SUVs waited nearby, bodyguards stationed discreetly. He offered his arm.
I hesitated.
But then I slipped mine through his.
We strolled past quiet fountains and trimmed hedges, the golden haze of sunset dusting the horizon.
His fingers brushed mine. Then curled around them.
I let him hold my hand.
"I thought you'd lose your mind when I said I wanted to model again," I muttered.
"I did," he replied. "I just didn't show it."
I glanced at him. "You called in a favor with Valente. That's not nothing."
He shrugged. "It was pretty easy. It really isn't a big deal."
I rolled my eyes. I didn't know if he was really being modest or pretending to be.
But I couldn't deny the fact that I felt grateful to him. Vincent had crushed my modeling career, and Killian had fixed it. There were both monsters. There had to be a catch or a condition I wasn't aware of.
I blew out a breath. "Why'd you agree, Killian?"
He didn't answer right away. His thumb brushed over my knuckles.
"I could've said no," he murmured. "But I didn't want to be the reason you dimmed your own light."
I turned to look at him, my heart skipping a beat. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was softer.
"You shine whether you want to or not, Tesora. It's in your bones and in your blood. I didn't make you powerful. I just want a front-row seat while you take the world apart."
I stopped walking, a lump lodging itself in my throat.
"You mean that?"
He stepped closer, so close I could feel the tension vibrating off him.
"I've seen what they did to you and what they tried to take." His hand slid up to cup my cheek, possessive but gentle. "But they didn't win. You're still here. Still surviving."
My chest tightened.
"I...I don't understand. You must hate me for trying to kill you. You married me for revenge, didn't you? So, this makes no sense," I said, pulling away from him.
He cocked his head, a lock of his hair falling over his forehead.
"I do want revenge, Alexa. Just not in the way you think," he stated, and I gulped.
"You're not going to kill me?" I croaked.
The corner of his mouth curved upwards, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me closer.
"Kill you? If I wanted to, I would've put a bullet in your skull a long time ago, Tesora."
Goosebumps spread across my skin. Lord, this man was terrifying.
"But I won't do that. I'll take my revenge in a different way, and when I do, you'd know."
I let out a shaky exhale.
"Did you know even before I told you?" I asked quietly. "Did you know that Vincent had reached out to me?"
He didn't flinch, but his eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Yes."
My cheeks heated up. This man was always ten steps ahead of me, wasn't he? This game of his seemed to be more complicated than I thought. Was I just a prey he was circling around?
"So why aren't you stopping me?"
A dangerous smirk curled his lips.
"Because," he murmured, pulling me in closer, "I want to see how far you'll go... and whether I'll still want to stop you when you do."
My mouth went dry. This man had to be unhinged, he needed a fucking therapist.
He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze turning darker. My pulse skipped.
Before I could say anything else, he bent down and kissed me.
My lips parted in surprise, and he devoured the sound.
My hands shot up to brace against his chest, but instead of pushing him away... my fingers curled into his shirt.
And then I leaned in.
I leaned into the kiss as if it was oxygen and I'd been starved for too long. My lips parted wider, letting him in, and when his tongue brushed mine, something snapped inside of me.
I should've pulled away. I should've slapped him, screamed, and run.
But instead, I kissed him back deeply. My body arched into him, needing more contact, more heat, more of the man I should hate.
His grip on my waist tightened possessively, dragging a low moan from the back of my throat. I hated the sound. I hated that it was for him.
But I needed more. The kiss was heat and hunger, it sent fire licking at my insides.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless and flushed, blinking up at him with my lips swollen.
And that's when I felt it, the heavy weight of a stare burning between my shoulder blades.
I froze, my instincts screaming a "CODE RED."