Page 69 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
As I turned over the question in my head, the landline rang, slicingthrough my thoughts. I turned and stalked into the living room, snatching the receiver off the hook.
“Mr. Vaughn, I’m so sorry—I tried to stop him—your father is on his way up and—”
I didn’t need to hear the rest. Another incompetent security detail I’d be firing before the end of the week.
Barely twenty seconds later, the door slammed open, and my father stormed in, radiating the kind of anger only he could wear like a crown.
I put the receiver down, jaw clenched tight as I tried to tamp the irritation burning through me.
Monday to Saturday, I answered his calls. Endured the lectures. The legacy speeches. But Sundays? Sundays were mine. And he’d just interrupted my peace.
“I thought you’d be in Dubai this week,” I said dryly, already heading for the minibar. I poured two glasses of rum—one for me, one for him.
“Are you trying to sabotage the pack?” His voice thundered through the room like a war drum.
I didn’t need to see him to know his face was pulled tight, that the hard lines around his mouth were set like stone—just like they always were whenever he was ready to bury someone alive.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Father,” I muttered, trudging back toward his vibrating frame with the glasses in hand.
He tossed a tablet onto the coffee table just as I dropped the drinks. The screen lit up on impact. It was a photo. Of Leila and I at the park. She was a few feet away, mid-gesture, her mouth open, probably scolding me. Must’ve been taken right after the encounter with Blaze.
Blaze.
Just the thought of that bastard made my blood start to simmer again. Before I could lose myself in the fantasy of what I’d do to him if I ever caught him near her again, my father’s voice cut through it.
“I spent my entire morning negotiating a payoff with the damn journalist who threatened to release those pictures,” he barked. “And I bet he would’ve done it under the most asinine headline because lookat you, Luca! You look like a goddamn lovesick puppy just staring at her!”
I didn’t respond. I just sat there, glass in hand, letting him rant.
My father’s fury was legendary—cutthroat, sharp enough to gut a room. There was a time when it scared me. When I walked on eggshells, did everything exactly how he wanted, shaped myself into the heir he demanded.
But that time was long gone. Now, his rage didn’t faze me. It just tired me.
“What did I do to deserve two disappointments for sons?” he muttered. “Victor’s problem is that he’s irresponsible. Your problem is you think with your cock.” He jabbed a finger toward the tablet, toward the image of Leila. “I thought that woman was old news. I thought you’d finally seen her for what she was—a fraud. A slut. So what the hell are you doing with her, Luca?”
“What’s so wrong about running into an old friend, Father?”
“She’s not a friend. She’s a leech.” His voice was venom now. “People like her? They latch on. They suck you dry until there’s nothing left—until your name, your power, your legacy is tainted.”
My jaw ticced. But I said nothing.
“I thought the years had made you wiser. I thought you were finally starting to understand what it means to be Alpha Heir of the Manhattan Pack. Clearly, I was wrong. You think you can do whatever you like just because I gave you power?”
“No, Father,” I said, voice flat. “I know exactly what being the Alpha Heir means.”
“Then act like it.” He stepped closer, his anger wrapping around the room like a vice. “Your duty is to your legacy, not your lust. You owe everything to the pack. That is primary. Everything else—including, and especially, your love affairs—is secondary.”
He studied me, and I could already feel it coming. The speech. That goddamn speech.
“That means marrying Elena. She’s the daughter of an Alpha—a powerful Alpha—from one of the largest packs in New York. Thatalliance would cement our influence in the North. Wealth. Territory. Power for generations. A Vaughn dynasty.”
“I know,” I said through clenched teeth, already sick of hearing it for the hundredth time.
“No. You don’t, Luca,” he snapped. “If you did, you wouldn’t risk everything for that bastard-born mutt who—”
“Watch your mouth.” The words came out low. More like a growl. My wolf surged beneath my skin, pacing, snarling, tired of being kept in check while my father spat filth about Leila.
He recoiled at my words. His eyes widened—just a flicker—before they narrowed to slits, darkened by fury. His nostrils flared, jaw clenched, and for a second, the air between us turned lethal.
