Page 32 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
It was a far cry from the tech mogul dreams she used to whisper into the dark, curled against me in bed. She’d talk for hours about starting her own firm, how she wanted to blend design and innovation to build something different. Her eyes used to light up when she spoke about it. She’d been relentless. Focused. So how had she gone from that…to this?
That same curiosity had gotten the better of me last night.
I ended up opening the portfolio Elena had sent days ago. I’d ignored all of it at first. But sometime after midnight, when Leila still wouldn’t leave my head, I gave in.
Her portfolio was good. Impressive, actually. She didn’t have the kind of résumé most candidates had. There was no long list of high-profile events. But her pitch? It was bold. Clever. She’d brought a level of spatial precision and aesthetic intent I hadn’t seen in most event designers. That kind of skill that didn’t just come from mood boards or Pinterest inspiration—it came from someone who understood structure. Flow. Lighting. How people moved through a space and what they felt when they did.
It was the same instinct she used to talk about when dreaming up tech-integrated interiors.
Elena said she’d blown by the shortlist the moment she saw Leila’s pitch. Said she’d never seen a candidate who could merge logistics with atmosphere so effortlessly.
No surprise. Leila always gave her all when she committed to something.
Except when it came to us.
And then there was the man. Blaze.
When his name lit up her screen, I saw the shift in her. The way her body tensed. The panic that drained all the color from her face. And then she ran—bolted from the Moreau estate like something was chasing her.
It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. Not after everything she did to me—after everything she took.
But the need to know burned in my chest like acid.
“Would you like some more caviar, Luca?” Mrs. Chen’s gentle voice cut through my thoughts.
She was already spooning the delicacy onto my plate before I could answer.
Mrs. Chen had worked for my family since I was a baby. She practically helped raise me, especially after the woman I called mother walked out.
She’d tried to fill the space that woman left behind, tried to reachme in ways only a mother could. But I’d already sealed the cracks shut. She once told me I was like a brick wall—solid, unmoving, impossible to read. She wasn’t wrong.
When she cast a quick, worried glance my way, I knew she must have noticed I wasn’t fully present.
But she didn’t ask. She never did.
I gave her a small smile in return—she was one of the few people in this house who still deserved that much—and watched her move on to my father.
“So, Luca.”
My father’s voice sliced clean through the room as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and fixed his eyes on me.
“How did your meeting with Sterling Moreau go the other day?”
I sat up straighter, pushing my thoughts back into their cage.
My father’s gaze was sharp—always searching, always dissecting. He could smell hesitation and weakness from a mile away. And right now, I was full of it.
But he wouldn’t see it. He wasn’t going to find out that I was unraveling because of a woman I should’ve buried five years ago.
Leila and I had never enjoyed smooth sailing. But I had fought for her because I loved her. Because she challenged me. Because she didn’t fawn over me like the rest of them. She carried her pain the way I carried mine—quietly, fiercely. I defended her against him—against everyone. I would’ve given it all up for her. The name. The inheritance. The future I was trained to want—because loving her made everything else feel small. Looking back now, maybe it was a blessing she showed me who she really was before I went too far. Before I ruined everything over a woman who couldn’t be trusted.
My father had always warned me—love makes you weak. I spent years hating him for that. Because when I was a boy, love meant her. My mother. The only softness in that house. The only person who ever made me feel seen. She was my shelter from him—his fury, his control, his obsession with power.
Until the morning I woke up and she was gone. No note. No goodbye. Just silence where her warmth used to be.
My father never said a word. He just looked at me like I should’ve seen it coming.
I thought Leila was different. Turns out, I was just following the same script—with a different actress.
