Page 63 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

“It’s never a burden,” he says, his voice slow, intentional. “Not when I’m doing it for her.”

My stomach clenches. Heat creeps up my face—part frustration, part something else I refuse to name.

Why would he say that? Why on earth would he say something like that here, in front of the entire board?

I force it down. Swallow the irritation, swallow everything else, and keep my voice even. Professional. Distant.

“Pinnacle Group was not built on charity.” My words are precise. “We appreciate your help. We truly do. But we are stable now, and we will begin taking steps to return to independent operations.”

No one speaks.

I gather my things. The meeting is over. I stand, pushing back my chair, and make my way toward the door.

Every step is heavy under the intensity of their stares.

They don’t approve. Of course they don’t.

Alex is making them richer than they ever imagined. This partnership is a gold mine, and they want to keep digging.

But I can’t.

I can’t keep seeing him in my space. I can’t keep feeling the sting of betrayal every time I look at him. I can’t keep reliving the moment I realized I was nothing more than a means to an end for him.

I want him out of my company.

Out of my life.

I turn the door handle to my office, step inside, and shut it behind me. For a moment, I just stand there in the middle of the room, inhaling deeply, then letting out a long, measured sigh.It’s partly to release the tension from that boardrooms events, but mostly because of the absolute state of my office.

Alex has turned it into a damn botanical garden.

Flowers. Everywhere.

Bouquets of all kinds—lavish arrangements of roses, lilies, tulips, orchids—spilling over the desk, the coffee table, the shelves. Some are balanced precariously on the windowsill, others stacked haphazardly near the wall where the delivery woman must have dumped them. I don’t even bother keeping up with the notes anymore.

They arrive every single day, each carrying some message I refuse to read. At first, I tried sending them back, but that turned into a whole ordeal—the delivery woman would stand there, flustered, insisting she had to leave them. After a while, I just gave up and told her to put them anywhere.

And now my office looks like a goddamn Valentine’s Day showroom.

I shake my head, stepping carefully between the floral chaos as I make my way to my desk. The air is thick with the scent of flowers—sweet, cloying, overwhelming.

It doesn’t move me. Not in the way Alex probably hopes it does.

If anything, it just grinds at me. Every single bouquet is a reminder—of how stupid I was, how naive I let myself be. For all I know, this is just another one of his games, another ploy.

I lower myself into my chair, exhale another breath, and shove everything else out of my mind. There’s work to be done. Real work. Especially now that I have to start setting things in motion for the termination of our partnership.

I get to it immediately, fingers clicking over my keyboard, eyes locked onto my screen.

I don’t know how long I work. Could be an hour. Maybe more. Time always slips away when I’m deep in it. But then—

A knock comes on the door.

I stop typing, but I don’t look up. My lips press together, irritation flaring up instantly.

I don’t respond.

It comes again. More insistent this time.

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