Page 13 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
The tall, black-haired man gave me a slow once-over before his gaze landed on my face. “You don’t mean that,” he said.
“You’re right. I don’t. And I meant for you to see right through my grim expression.” I took another sip of the fizzy vinegar and pretended to savor it. “This event could use a little less depressing music. And maybe some actual conversation that doesn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out.”
He chuckled. “You’re either excessively proud or dangerously confident.”
“Confident. Definitely confident.” I extended a hand, smiling. “Leila Carter.”
“Victor Vaughn.”
He shook my hand—held it a second too long—before releasing it.
“So, you’re not here to tell me about the fashion show in Paris? Or the latest Louis Vuitton drop?”
I laughed. “That’s what those other women were talking about?”
He sighed, dragging a finger along his collar in mock distress. It was the universal “save me” gesture.
“So, why are you here, Leila?”
That was how it all started.
I had pitched like my life depended on it—because it did. And right then and there, Victor Vaughn gave me the job.
What I didn’t know was that saying yes to him would be the first domino. The first move that would lead me straight to my Fated Mate.
To the only man I ever dared to love.
And the man who would almost ruin me.
Victor was giving me a tour of the Vaughn Industries —for reasons I still don’t fully understand—when I saw him.
No, felt him.
He was striding toward us like the world owed him something. Hands shoved in the pockets of a three-piece suit that looked expensive enough to feed my entire family for a month. Maybe more. It fit him like it was designed with nothing but arrogance and bone structure in mind.
But it wasn’t the suit.
And it wasn’t the anger stitched across his face either.
It was what she felt.
My wolf.
She didn’t just stir. She snapped. She jolted awake like someone had hooked her up to a car battery. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a full-body, heart-slamming reaction.
And me? I was confused.
Because—seriously—what the hell?
The man hadn’t even said a word. And already, I didn’t like him.
But my body hadn’t gotten the memo.
His intense gaze was on Victor at first. But then it shifted to me.
And the moment our eyes met, I stopped moving.
No metaphor. No exaggeration. I literally. Stopped. Moving.
