Page 130 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
He hadn’t yet said the name, but I had a nagging feeling who it was.
“It was calculated—smart, I’ll give him that. He shut down every loose end that could trace it back to him. But he’s no match for my prowess.” I could hear the smug satisfaction in Grant’s voice before the final blow landed. “It’s your brother. He orchestrated the theft at Vaughn Industries five years ago and made it look like Leila Carter was responsible. The real owner of that account? Victor Vaughn.”
The world tilted on its axis.
Everything I’d believed—every reason I’d had for rejecting Leila—was a lie. An elaborate, calculated lie crafted by my own brother to destroy that one good thing in my life. I’d known, deep down, that Leila was innocent. But hearing Grant confirm it?
I’d clearly underestimated the depth of his hate. I’d always known he was vile—a snake—but for all his claims about having feelings for Leila, he’d dared to hurt her like this?
I didn’t even care that he’d come at me. He came at her, stole five years of my life with her. Forced her into debt until it bled her dry. Made her carry the weight of a crime she didn’t commit.
Anger blindsided me. My grip tightened on the phone before I hung up. I rose from where Cassius lay broken on the floor.
Without another word, I stood and walked away. Cassius wasn’t the real enemy—he was just a puppet.
And God help me, I was going to kill the puppet master. Brother be damned.
Victor lived in a penthouse on the Upper East Side, and as I drove there, rage simmered in my veins. But nothing could have prepared me for the sickness I was about to walk into.
The elevator ride to the top floor felt like an eternity. Each passing second hardened my rage into something colder, sharper.
Music pounded through the walls when I stepped inside. I followed the bass down a hallway until the red glow drew me in.
It looked like a makeshift photography darkroom—chemical baths on shelves, red lights dripping shadows across the walls, photographs strung up like a grotesque gallery. Pictures of Leila. Dozens of them. Some I recognized from years ago. Some from before I’d even met her again. My pulse thundered in my ears.
And then I saw the table.
The pictures there were worse. Leila again—but with Victor’s face inserted beside her. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Laughing with her. And then…the one that made my vision go white. A naked body with Leila’s face crudely photoshopped onto it—Victor posed beside her, his cock in hand, cum smeared across her skin.
The door creaked behind me, footsteps cutting through the thump of the music. And then came Victor’s startled voice.
“Luca, what the hell are you—”
I didn’t let him finish. My fist smashed into his jaw, the crack of bone almost satisfying. Almost.
Victor staggered, his eyes flashing with anger as he shoved his jaw back into place. “How dare you walk into my home and harass me?”
I dropped the nude photographs at his feet. “What is this?” My voice was ice.
His gaze lowered, and when he saw the photos, he smirked. “Guilty pleasure. Hobby. Call it whatever you want.”
My fist connected with his jaw again—harder. “You son of a bitch,” I roared. “That’s my Mate.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. “Is that supposed to mean something? Do you know how many men must have fucked your ‘Mate’ before you met her?”
None.
Leila had been a virgin when I met her, and she’d only ever been with me. But that wasn’t the point.
I hauled him up by the chest, slamming him against the wall in the hallway.
“Five years,” I snarled. “Five fucking years you let me believe she betrayed me.”
Victor didn’t so much as shrug. And his gross nonchalance was pissing the hell out of me.
“You should be thanking me, brother,” he said. “She was making you weak.”
“Weak?” I let out a humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t know real strength if it stared you in the face. You framed her—fabricated evidence, stole money, and dumped the blame on her so I’d cut her loose.” My voice dropped to a growl. “And that photo? Another one of your cheap tricks, wasn’t it?”
