Page 52 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
“Things didn’t fall apart, Leila. You wrecked us.”
“And you believed it,” she shot back, voice cracking. “You wanted to. Because it was easier than admitting—”
She stopped herself. But the words hung there, unfinished, choking the space between us.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Leila took a step back, swallowed hard. “You have to leave, Luca. You are engaged, you shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly. “Don’t make me call the police.”
The words hit like a slap. I recognized them—my own words, thrown back at me. The night I had rejected her. Like she was mocking me.
And without saying anything else, I dropped the rag on the counter and walked out.
Chapter Twelve
Luca’s POV
I slammedmy gloved fist into the dummy’s jaw, savoring the sharp burst of pain that shot through my knuckles and up my arm. My muscles burned. Sweat slicked my forehead, dripping into my eyes, blurring my vision. But I didn’t need to see. I knew exactly where the target was—its jaw, its gut—like the back of my own hand.
I landed a second strike. Then another. And another. Each hit faster, harder, more precise than the last.
This was the one place I let go. The only place I allowed myself to unleash the fury I kept buried beneath the controlled silences.
I started Krav Maga five years ago. After Leila’s betrayal.
It cut deep. Deeper than I ever admitted. Left me with a fury I couldn’t contain, no matter how many boardrooms I dominated or how many zeros padded my bank account. So, I came here. Every morning. Every goddamn day. And I hit things until my body hurt more than my heart did, until the ache in my fists dulled the grief pulsing through my wolf.
Eventually, it became less frequent—four times a week, then two.Sometimes less. Before she walked back into my life, I hadn’t been here in over a week.
But seeing her again…
It cracked something open. The same ache. The same rage. But now it wasn’t just about pain.
It was about control.
Because the wolf inside me—my wolf—was losing it. Pacing. Prowling. Howling to claim what it still believed was ours. Urging me to go to her, to touch her, to forgive her. Like the years of betrayal meant nothing.
This…this was the only thing keeping me sane.
“Whoa, man. If that dummy could talk, it’d be screaming for mercy,” came Charles’ voice as he walked into the gym, his bag slung over one shoulder and a garment bag clutched in the other.
I drove my fist into the dummy’s gut. Hard.
Charles let out a low whistle. “Okay, yeah. You definitely have a personal vendetta.”
“You’re late,” I said without looking at him.
“Apparently calling a high-end designer to rush a delivery now gets you flagged as a prank caller. Who knew?” He dropped the garment bag carefully onto the bench. “Besides, didn’t you say the shoot’s at three p.m.? We’ve still got about thirty minutes.”
The photoshoot. To announce the marriage between Elena and I.
There wasn’t supposed to be one. My plan had been simple: pay the city’s biggest media outlet to run an exclusive on the engagement, feed them doctored shots of Elena and me together—glamorous, clean, fabricated. End of story.
But Elena had other plans.
She wanted a spectacle. A grand announcement the whole damn city would choke on. And with Sterling suddenly dragging his feet on logistics, I needed to give him a reason to believe this marriage was more than a power arrangement. I needed to prove I was all in.
Which meant getting dressed. Standing in front of a camera. And pretending to be happy.
