Page 18 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
I’d left that estate burning with a heat I couldn’t extinguish. My wolf was now alive and pacing. Growling, even.
Fucking traitor.
Where was this loyalty when I needed him to back me? When I fought like hell to move the fuck on—tried everything to scrape Leila out of my system, to forget the woman who lied to my face, stole frommy company, and fucked another man while swearing no man had ever made her feel as good as I did.
I tore myself apart to reject her. To do the right thing. To kill the bond before it destroyed me. And he—my wolf—just went silent. Curled up like some grieving animal while I carried the weight of her betrayal alone.
And now, after years of silence, he wanted to run back to her? Like nothing happened? Like she hadn’t burned us both?
I drove home instead of to the office. Didn’t bother with the bar. I didn’t think alcohol could numb the ache I was feeling.
I hated how clearly I remembered the way her breath hitched in that bathroom. The look in her eyes when she saw me again, like she was the one who had a right to be shocked.
I loathed that she still had that power over me. That I woke up hard, angry, and aching, jerking off to the memory of a moan I should’ve forgotten five years ago.
Goddamn her.
She’d invaded all my senses, even my wolf. Disrupted my morning routine, threw off my workflow, hijacked every damn process I relied on to function. And even now, sitting in a boardroom with a full presentation underway, I was barely present. My fingers curled tight against the armrest, jaw clenched as her face flickered in my thoughts like a light I couldn’t turn off.
The sound of clapping snapped me out of my Leila-infested thoughts, yanking me back into the sterilized chill of the boardroom. I blinked, only half aware of the people around me as I dragged my attention from the curve of Leila’s full lips to the screen at the front of the room, where the last slide of a disastrous presentation still lingered in bold Comic Sans reading, “Tech-tastic Living: The Future is Now!”
What the hell?
Around the table, my executive team clapped like programmed seals, maybe out of fear, maybe because they’d stopped thinking for themselves. Either way, it increased my annoyance. Tory, the marketing team lead, beamed nervously, like a student proud to turn in an assignment she didn’t understand.
My expression must have spoken volumes, because the clapping died down. Silence dropped over the room.
I leaned back in my chair, fixing my gaze on Tory. “Is that all of it?”
“Y–yes, Mr. Vaughn,” she said, voice pitched lower than usual, her eyes suddenly fixed on the floor.
I kept my tone calm, but clipped. “Remind me, Tory…what was the assignment?”
She blinked. “I—I…Mr. Vaughn—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
That snapped the words right out of her mouth. “We were tasked with crafting a forward-facing campaign to introduce our next gen smart interior suite to luxury real estate developers and hotel investors.”
I gave a small, tight nod. “And you believe this—‘Tech-tastic Living’—is a suitable reflection of our brand?”
“Well…” she fumbled. “We thought that a, um, more…playful tone might attract a younger demographic—”
“A demographic,” I cut in coldly, “that doesn’t own property. Much less penthouses fitted with biometric lighting, thermal modulating furniture, and AI integrated mood panels.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Good. Because there was no defending this crap.
I stood sharply, the chair scraping loudly behind me.
“Next time you want to impress me,” I said, voice low, controlled, “don’t show me a cartoon butler named Clive adjusting someone’s couch temperature. Show me market segments, real behavioral data, and a launch plan that doesn’t include me dancing on TikTok.”
I adjusted my cuffs, settling my gaze on every one of them as I spoke. “Meeting adjourned until tomorrow. And if you cannot come up with something befitting of the Vaughn brand, prepare to lose your jobs.”
I stormed back into my office and made a beeline for the vodka. I downed a full glass, the alcohol scorching down my throat like fire. But it didn’t offer me a shred of relief. If anything, it only simmered in the anger that had been bubbling beneath my skin.
I shouldn’t still want her. Not this badly. Not after what she did. After how she betrayed me. She’d cheated. Let another fucking man put his cock in her.
