Page 28 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

I feel it before it happens. That subtle change in his tone. The way his voice dips just enough to make the next words feel heavier, loaded. I sit up straighter, every nerve in my body on edge.

“…or finding love with a janitor when you’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company.”

My heart stops.

Frank’s eyes lock onto mine, green and glinting with mischief, and he smirks like the devil himself. It’s not even subtle. He knows exactly what he’s doing. My body stiffens, heat flooding my face, but I keep my expression neutral. Barely.

Frank knows.

“I guess it’s fair to also dedicate this toast to our beloved CEO… my beloved cousin,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock affection. He chuckles softly, and the sound grates against every nerve in my body. “At one point, we all started to get a little worried. It seemed like she was too good for any man.” He pauses, his smirk widening. “But it’s heartwarming to see she’s found love in the most unlikely of places… with a janitor who works in our offices.”

The room goes still.

It’s the kind of silence that makes your ears ring, the kind that’s so heavy it presses against your chest. I can feel every single pair of eyes in the room turn toward Alex and me. The air feels thick.

Frank stands there, grinning like a cat that just cornered its prey. He dings his glass one more time, like he needs the attention back on him for a grand finale. “So, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice bright and cheerful, “to opportunities, to partnership, to making the impossible happen… and to love.”

He raises his glass, and the room follows suit, murmuring “cheers” with varying degrees of awkwardness.

I grip my champagne flute tighter than I should, my knuckles going white. I feel like I’m holding back a tidal wave of emotions—anger, embarrassment.

Frank lowers his glass, taking a sip like he’s just delivered a masterpiece of a toast, and the room starts to go back into its usual hum of conversation. But the damage is done. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I turn to Alex just then, searching his face for a clue, for any hint of what he’s thinking. But his expression is unreadable, locked in a calm veneer that only hints at the storm underneath. It’s not embarrassment—I can tell that much. No, it’s something closer to anger. A quiet, simmering fury, like the look of someone who feels deeply wronged but already knows exactly how they’ll handle it. His jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, but his eyes—those eyes hold something resolute.

A wave of guilt washes over me so strong it almost makes me dizzy. This is my fault. I’m the one who brought him into this world, who offered him the contract and set this whole situation into motion. I was so focused on shielding myself, I didn’t stop to think about what it might cost him. And now, because of me, he’s been publicly humiliated, dragged through the mud in front of a room full of people who don’t even see him as a person. The thought tightens something in my chest.

The rest of the dinner crawls by, every second feeling like an eternity. The awkward stares from some of the guests weighheavy on me, their whispers brushing past my ears like tiny knives. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ignore it. But I can feel the heat of their gazes, the judgment, the curiosity.

Then, without a word, Alex lays his hand on mine. Just that. A small, simple gesture. But in this moment, it feels like everything. His fingers are warm, holding me when I feel like I’m fraying at the edges. He doesn’t say a single word, but the quiet strength in his touch is enough to steady my breathing. It’s as if, somehow, he’s shielding me.

The night drags on, and as some of the guests begin to leave, I see Frank weaving his way toward us. My fists clench instinctively at my sides. Every step he takes, every smug line etched into his face, makes my skin crawl. I can feel my pulse thrumming in my ears as he finally stops in front of us, that insufferable grin plastered across his face.

“I hope you enjoyed the speech,” he says, his voice oozing with mock sincerity.

“You look really proud of yourself, Frank,” I reply, keeping my tone even, though my nails dig into my palms.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says with a fake laugh, waving a hand like we’re sharing some inside joke. “Don’t be such a downer, cousin. I’m happy for you. Really.”

He turns to Alex then, and I feel a fresh wave of anger rising. “Oh, and I would head home early if I were you. Those floors aren’t going to mop themselves in the morning, ya know.”

And then, as if to drive the knife in deeper, he pats Alex on the shoulder. Like he’s a dog. A thing.

I’m on the verge of losing it, my whole body vibrating with suppressed rage as Frank saunters off, pleased with himself. But before I can say anything, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Lawrence is walking toward us now.

Alex notices him too. He tightens his grip on my hand—not too much, just enough for me to know he’s there, that he’s got me. It’s like he’s steeling me for whatever fresh hell is about to come.

Lawrence stops in front of us, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares. That sharp, assessing gaze of his moves from me to Alex and back again, and I can feel everything unspoken hanging in the air. It’s a look that says my brief reprieve from his constant prodding is over. Whatever peace I’d found, it’s gone now.

And then, without a word, he turns and walks away.

I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding and turn to Alex, my throat tight. “I’m sorry,” I manage. It’s the only thing I can say, but it feels so inadequate.

He looks at me, his gaze softening. His hands come up to rest on my shoulders, steady and sure. “No, Katherine. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His voice is calm, unshakable, and somehow, it soothes the jagged edges of my guilt. Then he stands, offering me his hand with a small, reassuring smile.

“Let’s go home.”

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