The car ride back to the penthouse was a return to the silent tomb. The charged energy from the dance floor had evaporated the moment Alexander's hand left my back. He sat across from me, his face once again a mask of impenetrable ice, his gaze fixed on the city lights sliding past his window. The phantom warmth of his body against mine was a cruel illusion, a taunt.
The private elevator felt smaller than ever, the air thick with unspoken words. The doors opened into the dark, silent penthouse. He strode in, not bothering with the lights, heading straight for the liquor cabinet in the living area. He poured himself two fingers of amber liquid, the clink of the crystal decanter against the glass unnaturally loud in the stillness.
I stood by the elevator, my clutch held tightly in both hands, my heart still beating a frantic, confused rhythm.
"You can go to your room, Elara," he said, his back to me. "The performance is over for the night."
Something inside me, wound tight all evening, finally snapped.
"Why did you do that?" The question burst out of me, sharp and unsteady.
He stilled, then slowly turned to face me. The only light came from the city beyond the windows, carving his face into sharp planes of light and shadow. "Do what?"
"That! With Daniel! The… the 'what's mine' speech. The dancing." I took a step forward, my silk gown whispering against the floor. "You didn't have to go that far. A simple dismissal would have been enough. It's in the contract 'present a unified, amicable front.' That wasn't amicable. That was… personal."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving me. "It was necessary. A man like that understands only one thing: a clear, dominant display of power. A 'simple dismissal' would have left him thinking he could try again. Now, he won't."
"So it was just another business calculation?" I pressed, my voice rising. "Another efficient solution?"
"What did you think it was, Elara?" he asked, his tone dangerously soft. He took a step toward me. "Did you think it was real? Did the charade on the dance floor confuse you?"
His words were a direct hit, meant to wound. They succeeded.
"I think," I said, my voice trembling with a fury I hadn't known I was capable of, "that for a man who claims to despise emotional volatility, you put on a damn convincing show of being a jealous husband!"
The moment the words left my mouth, the air crackled. He set his glass down on the cabinet with a sharp, definitive click and closed the distance between us in two long strides. He loomed over me, his presence overwhelming in the dark.
"Jealousy is a pointless, possessive emotion. It implies a fear of loss," he bit out, his face inches from mine. "I do not fear losing what I never wanted to possess in the first place. I was protecting my investment. Your public humiliation would have reflected poorly on me. It's that simple."
"I am not your investment!" I shot back, jabbing a finger at his chest. It was like poking solid granite. "I am a person! One you paid for, I get it, but that doesn't give you the right to… to toy with me like that! To say things that…" I broke off, my breath hitching.
"That what?" he challenged, his voice a low growl. He was so close I could see the flecks of silver in his grey eyes, feel the heat radiating from his body. "That made you feel something? That made you forget, for one second, that this is all a transaction?"
His accusation was a mirror held up to my own confused feelings, and the reflection was terrifying. I was angry because he was right. The line had blurred for me, and he had just redrawn it in blood.
"Go to hell, Alexander."
I tried to push past him, but his hand shot out, not to grab me, but to plant itself on the wall beside my head, caging me in.
"We are in a business partnership, Elara," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You are the face of this venture. Your composure, your dignity, are assets. I will not have them, or my reputation, tarnished by some insignificant relic from your past. Do you understand?"
Tears of rage and humiliation burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I tilted my head back, meeting his glacial stare with a fire of my own.
"Crystal clear, partner."
We stood there, locked in a silent, furious standoff in the dark. The space between us was electric, charged with a tension that was part rage, part something else entirely, something wild and unpredictable. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and for a heart-stopping second, the air vanished from my lungs. The anger between us was a live wire, and I felt a terrifying, undeniable pull.
His head dipped a fraction of an inch.
My lips parted on a shaky breath.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he pushed himself away from the wall, breaking the spell. The cold, detached mask slammed back into place.
"Don't let it happen again," he said, his tone flat and final.
He turned and walked away, disappearing down the hallway toward his office, leaving me standing alone in the vast, dark living room, my body trembling, my heart pounding, and the phantom sensation of his near-kiss burning on my lips.