The gala had left Elena with a head full of questions she didn't want to admit. She had told herself she couldn't stand Alexander Knight — his arrogance, his control, the way he carried himself like the world was his chessboard.
And yet, she couldn't get the memory of his hand at her waist, his voice steady as he called her permanent, out of her mind.
It was dangerous. It was infuriating. It was addictive.
But Elena wasn't about to let him know that.
---
Two nights later, Alexander hosted a private dinner meeting in his penthouse with investors from Europe. Elena had been "invited" — which really meant she was expected to appear, smile, and play the role of Mrs. Knight again.
She wore a sapphire dress this time, one that dipped low at the back. Alexander's stylist had delivered it, but when she stepped into the room, even he seemed momentarily stunned. His gaze lingered too long, darkening before he masked it with cool indifference.
"You're late," he said instead, as though that explained the tension.
"I was perfecting the art of being a trophy wife," she shot back sweetly.
He didn't answer — but the sharp line of his jaw told her she'd scored a hit.
---
The dinner dragged on, filled with talk of mergers and expansions. Elena's mind drifted, until one of the younger investors — a handsome Italian named Marco — leaned closer to her.
"You must find this dreadfully boring," Marco said with a conspiratorial grin.
Elena chuckled. "You have no idea."
Alexander's hand, resting on the table beside his glass, stilled.
Marco's smile widened. "Perhaps we could escape this boardroom talk sometime? I'd love to show you the city from a more… romantic perspective."
Elena's lips parted in surprise — and amusement. For the first time all evening, she felt like herself again, not just Alexander's accessory.
She leaned in, just enough to make sure Alexander could hear. "Careful, Marco. My husband has a very sharp temper."
Marco winked. "Then perhaps you enjoy danger."
Alexander's fork clattered against his plate.
The table fell silent. Investors glanced between them, uncertain, until Alexander recovered with a smooth laugh.
"Marco, my wife enjoys many things. But dinner with strangers isn't one of them."
Elena's brow arched. Oh, he was angry. Good.
---
When the last guest had gone and the door clicked shut, the air snapped taut.
Alexander turned on her, eyes blazing. "What exactly was that stunt, Elena?"
She crossed her arms. "What stunt? I was being charming. Isn't that what you wanted from me?"
"You were flirting." His voice was low, lethal.
"Was I?" she teased, tilting her head. "Funny, I thought you didn't care about hearts. Or am I wrong, darling?"
For a moment, Alexander didn't move. He just stared at her, something fierce and unreadable flickering in those stormy eyes.
Then, in two strides, he was in front of her. His hand braced against the wall beside her head, his body a wall of heat and restrained fury.
"Don't play games you can't finish," he murmured, his voice dangerously close to her ear.
Elena's breath hitched, but she forced a smirk. "Who said I can't?"
His eyes dropped to her lips, and for a heartbeat, she thought he would kiss her. Thought he might crush the space between them and prove just how much he hated seeing another man look at her.
But then he stepped back, his mask snapping into place.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Knight," he said coldly, and walked away.
Elena pressed her palm to her racing heart, furious with herself.
Because part of her had wanted him to stay.