Page 56 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
“I said we’re done, Elena,” I repeated, louder this time.
She froze, her eyes darting around the room. Everyone was still staring, confused. Expecting the picture-perfect couple.
Her shoulders stiffened.
“Everybody out,” she snapped.
At first, no one moved. They just stood, shocked, contemplating whether she was serious or not.
“I said, get out!” Elena bellowed, throwing down a ring light.
This time, they scrambled on their feet, snatching their lights, reflectors, and camera gear in a flurry of awkward, anxious movements. No one dared make eye contact. And when the last crew member closed the door behind them, silence crashed into the room.
Elena turned slowly.
She crossed the floor with slow, deliberate steps. Her expression was soft, rehearsed. The kind of softness designed to seduce, not soothe.
“What’s wrong, Luca?” she asked. “You look…tense.”
She kept moving, weaving toward the sofa where I sat. The glint in her eye wasn’t concern. It was hunger. Ego. Possession.
“You know,” she purred, sliding down to her knees, “I could always help you take the edge off. All you have to do is ask. Whenever, wherever.”
She smirked as she reached for her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail like she’d done this performance a hundred times.
“Elena—” My voice came out in a growl, a warning.
But she was already reaching for the zipper of my slacks, her fingers moving with practiced ease.
I flinched back sharply as I stood too fast, knocking her off balance. She landed on the carpet with a startled gasp, more shocked than hurt.
Frustration cracked through her expression. “What, Luca?” she snapped, climbing to her feet. “You never let me touch you. You never even look at me.”
She stepped forward again, her chest lifted, eyes blazing with indignation.
“Do you have any idea how many men would kill to have me intheir bed for a single night?” She pressed herself against me, allowing her hands to slide across my waist, her fingers curling toward my belt. “Don’t you find me attractive? Don’t you want me?”
When her hand moved lower, aimed straight for my cock, I grabbed her wrist in one swift motion.
Her breath caught.
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The words came like they’d been dipped in ice.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again.”
My grip didn’t loosen until I saw the flicker in her eyes. The fear beneath her pride. Only then did I release her.
I didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t spare her a backward glance.
I walked out of that studio with fire in my blood and her perfume clinging to my suit like a stain I couldn’t wash off fast enough.
In the days that followed, I couldn’t concentrate. Uncertainty gnawed at me—along with the irrepressible suspicion that Ollie was mine.
Nights were filled with thoughts of her. Of the kid. Of the possibility that he was mine. That I’d spent five fucking years angry with her, while she carried my child. Our child.
And it wasn’t just the nights. The days, too—meetings, briefings, deals—blurred with distraction.
More than ever, I needed the truth. I needed to get close to Ollie, get a strand of his hair, and do the DNA test. Only then would I be at ease. Only then would I know.
