Page 9 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

A knock at the door pulls me from my focus. I don’t bother looking up, my eyes glued to the spreadsheet on my screen. “Come in,” I say, my tone brisk.

The door creaks open, and I glance up just in time to see Alex stepping inside, clad in his janitor uniform and carrying hiscleaning supplies. His presence draws an immediate smile from me.

“Good evening, Ms. Lockhart,” he says, his voice polite as always. “Would it be okay if I come back later? I’m doing the cleaning rounds.”

I wave a hand dismissively, already feeling a small spark of joy at seeing him. “Oh, it’s okay, Alex. You can do it now. I won’t be stepping out of here for a while.”

He nods, his expression composed as he replies, “Yes, ma’am.” Then he sets to work, moving toward the door with his mop and bucket as he fits his cleaning mask over his face.

I watch him for a moment, unable to help myself. There’s something almost absurdly endearing about the sight of him with a mop stick in hand, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as he maneuvers it across the floor. The mop looks comically small in his grasp, more like a twig than a tool. I bite back a smile, shaking my head and turning back to my screen.

But then, another knock sounds at the door. This time, I hesitate. “Come in,” I say again, though my tone is more guarded now.

The door opens. It’s Frank. He strides into the room. The sight of him makes my stomach tighten, the easy mood Alex had sparked in me dissipating like smoke.

I glance briefly at Alex, who continues mopping as if he hasn’t noticed Frank’s arrival.

“Frank,” I say coolly, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands on the desk. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Thought you might need some coffee. It’s going to be a long night with the deadline coming up,” he says, his tone just a little too smooth, the cup extended like an olive branch.

I freeze, my eyebrow lifting instinctively.

Frank? Getting me coffee?My mind reels at the oddness of it. This man has spent every possible moment making my life harder since I became CEO. He’s constantly undermining me. And now, he’s bringing me coffee? It doesn’t add up.

Before I can even voice my skepticism, Alex moves. He’s standing near the door with his mop, his large hands gripping the stick awkwardly, his eyes fixed downward. He takes a step back, and his broad frame bumps right into Frank.

It’s like watching a slow-motion disaster unfold. The coffee cup slips from Frank’s hand, spinning mid-air before crashing to the floor. The rich, dark liquid splatters everywhere, pooling around Frank’s polished shoes.

“Oh my…” Alex says, his deep voice carrying the tone of surprise but it still clings to that strange air of confidence that seems to always follow him.. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Frank’s voice explodes. His face flushes red in an instant.

Alex, for all his size, shrinks slightly under Frank’s glare. He bows his head and immediately moves to clean up the spill, the mop already in motion. “I’m really sorry, sir. I’ll clean that up right away and fetch another cup,” he says, his voice apologetic.

“You clumsy idiot!” Frank barks again, his voice rising. The venom in his tone is palpable, and it makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.

I push back my chair and stand. “Alright, Frank. That’s enough,” I say firmly.

Frank doesn’t even acknowledge me at first. His gaze stays locked on Alex, his jaw tight, the veins in his neck straining. “How the hell are you even employed, you big bumbling moron!” he spits.

“I said, that’s enough!” I repeat, louder this time, stepping forward. Frank finally turns to me, his eyes narrowing. There’s rage there, raw and unfiltered, and it shocks me. This is over coffee, for crying out loud. “Thank you for the coffee, Frank. I’ll get another one. It’s okay,” I add, trying to sound calm, even though my heart is pounding.

For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then he huffs, his chest rising and falling heavily. He shoots Alex one last withering glare before turning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door behind him.

Alex doesn’t say a word. He just keeps mopping, his head down, movements steady and focused. I steal a glance, trying to catch a hint of his expression, unease curling in my chest.Did Frank’s tirade get to him?

But his face gives nothing away, none that I can see with his cleaning mask covering half of his face anyway. He’s a blank slate, calm and unreadable, as if the words never even reached him.

I sit back down slowly, my hands hovering over the keyboard, but I can’t focus on the screen in front of me. My gaze keeps drifting back to Alex. I want to say something—to comfort him, to apologize for Frank’s behavior—but the words won’t come.

Alex finishes cleaning the floor and moves on to the rest of the office, his movements efficient and practiced. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t make any unnecessary noise. And when he’s done, he starts packing up his cleaning supplies. But then he pauses.

He’s standing by the door, his hand on the knob, his face tight with something I can’t quite place. Conflict, maybe? Hesitation? Finally, he turns to me, and there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes my chest tighten.

“Ms. Lockhart,” he says, his voice low. “I would like to tell you something.”

I sit up straighter, my attention fully on him now. “What’s that, Alex?” I ask.

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