Page 10 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

He glances around, even though it’s just the two of us in the room. Then, in a few quick strides, he’s standing right in front of my desk. He leans down, his massive frame folding as he lowers his head to my ear. “Please… don’t drink anything, or eat anything Mr. Frank gives you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but every word lands with the weight of a hammer.

And then he’s straightening up again, his eyes tinged with concern. He nods once, a silent acknowledgment, and walks out of the room without another word.

For a moment, I can’t move. I just sit there, staring at the closed door, my mind racing. My skin prickles, and a chill runs down my spine.

So it wasn’t an accident.Alex bumped into Frank on purpose. He spilled that coffee intentionally. And the reason why? Because he was protecting me. He thought—no, he knew—that something was wrong with that coffee. That Frank had done something to it.

My breath catches, and my chest tightens as the realization sinks in. Frank has always hated me, always wanted my position. But poisoning me? The thought feels surreal, like something out of a bad thriller movie. And yet, Alex clearly believed it enough to act.

A shiver rolls through me, but beneath the fear is something else. Gratitude. If Frank really was planning something, Alex might have just saved my life.

*

By the time Thursday rolls around, Alex’s words are still playing on a loop in my head, like a warning bell that refuses to stop ringing. It’s a new kind of tension, one I haven’t felt before. I’ve always had to keep my guard up—being the CEO of Pinnacle Group practically requires it. Every move I make, every decision, every word, it all gets scrutinized under a microscope. The board doesn’t trust me. They never have. Hell, they fought tooth and nail to keep me from getting this role in the first place. And the family elders? Let’s just say they weren’t exactly thrilled either.

But this? This is different. This is about my safety, my life. I run my hand across my temple, trying to push the anxiety aside.

My eyes flick back to my computer screen, scanning through the project data one last time. Everything is in order. Tomorrow night, everyone can rest easy and uwind at the gala.

The gala. Ugh.

I don’t even want to think about it. That damn list Lawrence handed me is still sitting on the corner of my desk. I have to show up with a date. God forbid I go alone. Apparently, a CEO attending solo is some kind of cardinal sin in the eyes of the elders.

Just as my annoyance is about to boil over, there’s a knock at the door. It’s a soft, familiar knock—one I’ve come to recognize. My mood lifts almost immediately,a spark of anticipation breaking through the me. It’s Alex.

This has become our thing ever since that day with the ramen. He shows up at my office, and we share dinner over easy, unhurried conversations. It’s the best part of my day, a reprieve from everything else. “Come in,” I call, already feeling a weight lift from my chest.

Alex steps in, the air in my office seems to change as his large frame comes through the door. In each hand, he’s holding whatlooks like food containers. “Good evening, Ms Katherine,” he says, his deep voice is warm, his eyes steady as he looks at me. “I made dinner this time.”

A smile forms on my face. It tugs at me, how thoughtful he is. His company is a breath of fresh air. And venting to him? It’s so easy. Easier than it should be, probably.

Tonight, the meal is pasta and meatballs, simple but delicious. He made it himself, and when I compliment the taste, a cocky smile spreads across his face. It’s not over-the-top, just enough to show he’s proud, and I can’t help but find it oddly endearing. There’s something about the quiet confidence he wears in this moment that draws me in, making the meal—and his company—feel even better. The conversation flows easily, like it always does.

But the cloud is still there, hanging over me. Even as we finish eating and Alex starts packing up the empty containers, I can feel it. My thoughts drift back to tomorrow night, to that stupid list, and my mood sours all over again.

Alex notices. “Ms. Katherine,” he says gently, “Is everything okay?”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s that gala, Alex. It’s tomorrow night,” I admit, the irritation clear in my tone.

He nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “That’s true,” he says, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate.

“I haven’t picked anyone from that abominable list,” I continue, the frustration bubbling up. “And I don’t want to.”

Alex watches me for a moment. Then he speaks. “What if you just don’t go with any of them?” he suggests, his tone careful but sincere. “What if you go all by yourself?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Yeah, that would go over really well,” I say sarcastically. “The family elders would never let me hear the end of it.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Will they do anything besides talk?” he asks, his voice pointed, almost daring.

The question catches me off guard. It’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, but it hits hard.Will they actually do anything besides talk?

Before I can answer, he continues, his voice steady and encouraging. “I don’t think you should go with anyone you don’t want to go with,” he says, his eyes locking on mine. “And I trust you. You can handle anything they throw your way.”

The way he looks at me, the way he speaks to me—it ignites something deep within.

He’s right.

To hell with Lawrence’s list. I’ll go to the gala alone.

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