Chapter 26
Grace's POV
I woke up with a splitting headache in an unfamiliar room. The cotton sheets felt incredibly soft against my skin. Sunlight filtered through partially drawn curtains, illuminating a spacious, elegantly appointed guest room that screamed money in the quiet, understated way that only old wealth can.
Where the hell am I?
My last clear memory was leaving the VIP box... then... walking through the lobby... feeling like I might collapse...
I sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it as the room spun violently.
"Oh god," I groaned, pressing my palm against my forehead.
A soft knock at the door preceded an older woman in an impeccable uniform entering with a tray.
"Good morning, Ms. Wilson. I've brought you some pain relievers and water. Mr. Morgan thought you might need them."
"Where am I?" I asked, gratefully accepting the pills and water.
"Mr. Morgan's private estate, miss. You were... unwell last night, and he brought you here rather than sending you home alone."
Fragments of memory flashed through my mind—strong arms catching me, a deep voice near my ear, the secure feeling of being carried.
"Did I... Was I..." I struggled to form the question.
The housekeeper smiled kindly. "You simply needed rest, miss. "
A wave of relief washed over me. At least I hadn't done anything embarrassing.
"There are fresh clothes in the bathroom," the housekeeper continued. "If you'd like, Mr. Morgan is having breakfast in the kitchen."
After a quick shower that helped clear my head, I dressed in the clothes provided—simple yet clearly expensive casual wear that fit surprisingly well. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to face Alex and whatever awkwardness awaited.
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Alex's POV
I heard her before I saw her—light footsteps approaching the kitchen. I kept my eyes on my tablet, reviewing market reports while finishing my protein-heavy breakfast.
"Good morning," Grace's voice carried a hint of uncertainty that contrasted with her usual confidence.
I looked up, nodding briefly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," she admitted with surprising candor. "But the medication is helping. Thank you for... last night."
I gestured toward the breakfast spread my chef had prepared. "Help yourself."
She surveyed the options, bypassing my protein and salmon to select French toast and cookies. I watched with mild amusement as she built a plate entirely of carbohydrates and sugar.
"Sweet tooth?" I couldn't help asking.
She shrugged, settling into the chair across from me. "Life's too short to skip dessert."
I returned to my reports, expecting us to eat in comfortable silence. Instead, I felt something touch my plate. Looking up, I found Grace extending her fork toward me, a piece of syrup-drenched French toast balanced on it.
"Try some," she said with a slight smile.
I stared at her fork, then at her face. The gesture was surprisingly intimate, crossing an invisible boundary.
More surprising was my reaction—I leaned forward and accepted the bite.
I don't usually eat sweets, but this wasn't that bad.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Lucas's shocked expression as he entered the kitchen. I didn't blame him. Me sharing food with someone was unprecedented.
"Why didn't you appear at the last gala?" I asked the question that had been on my mind.
Grace's expression shifted slightly. "My dress had a catastrophic malfunction. The back zipper completely tore out at the last minute."
I nodded, not entirely hiding my disappointment. "That's unfortunate."
"Were you looking for me?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
I met her gaze directly. "Yes."
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Grace's POV
Alex's directness caught me off guard. That simple "yes" contained more honesty than I had expected.
But when I remembered the scene of him dancing with another lady, I swallowed what I wanted to say.
As we finished breakfast, I remembered the emerald ring still in my possession. I retrieved the small box from my purse.
"I should return this," I said, placing it on the table between us. "It wasn't appropriate for me to accept it."
Alex's eyes cooled instantly. "You don't like it?"
"No, I like it very much, but our relationship isn't yet..."
"Morgan family gifts are never taken back," he insisted.
"Alright, I'll keep it then. But I must give you a gift too," I persisted. "The scales should be balanced."
He studied me for a long moment. "If you insist," he finally said, his tone slightly softer. "Do whatever you want."
I observed the subtle change in his expression, the slight easing of his rigid posture. "You know, you're much easier to deal with than your reputation suggests, Mr. Morgan."
That earned me something rare—the ghost of a smile.
After thanking him for his hospitality, I left his estate feeling oddly lighter despite my hangover. My driver was already waiting, Alex having arranged transportation without my asking.
Back at my office later that afternoon, I was reviewing project timelines when my phone rang.
"Ms. Wilson? This is the director from Botanica Luxe. We've evaluated your new project and would like to invest sixty million dollars."
I nearly dropped the phone. "Sixty million? I don't believe we've worked with your company before."
"That's correct, but our analysis indicates your project has been severely undervalued. We're confident in both your project and your abilities."
I thanked him and said I needed time to discuss some details. Ending the call, my thoughts raced as I considered whether there might be a trap. I immediately asked Julie to investigate this company.
Minutes later, Julie burst into my office without knocking.
"Grace! Botanica Luxe has been acquired by the Morgan Group!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "It hasn't even been publicly announced yet!"
The pieces immediately clicked together. This wasn't standard investment protocol—this was Alex's arrangement.
I picked up my phone and sent him a thank-you text with an emoji.
Without hesitation, I quickly headed to Botanica Luxe with Julie.
Things proceeded smoothly, with no additional conditions attached. As we left after signing the contract, I came face to face with someone all too familiar.