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Alejandro’s head tilted toward the clock mounted on the night stand. The thin second hand ticked past the hour mark, and he squinted his eyes.
With a low groan, he pushed himself upright, ignoring the throbbing in his ribs.
His body screamed in protest, every bruise ached, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through.
Pain was nothing new. Pain was manageable. What wasn’t manageable was the gnawing inside him at the thought of missing this moment.
He had promised her–promised–that he wouldn’t work today and get rest. But there were some things a man like him could not set aside, not even for her.
And this…this was something he had to see.
He stepped into his closet, the familiar sight of neatly lined suits and polished shoes greeting him. He stripped off the loose shirt he’d been lounging in and reached for his signature pieces: a sharp ck suit, pressed to perfection.
The crisp shirt slid over his sore shoulders, the starched fabric dragging over healing cuts, and he hissed but didn’t stop.
He then knotted his tie slowly, pulling the silk until it sat flush against his throat.
By the time he shrugged into his jacket and adjusted his cufflinks, the Alejandro everyone knew–the immacte, untouchable heir–was back.
The bruises beneath the suit didn’t matter. The pain in his side didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except what he had set his mind to do,
Sliding his watch onto his wrist, he turned toward the door.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, his eyes narrowed, falling on the head helper who appeared to be lingering by his door, fidgeting with her hands as though caught in the middle of something she shouldn’t be doing.
Alejandro’s brows arched. “Why are you here? Haven’t you already cleaned?”
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The woman froze, her lips parting soundlessly before she awkwardly scratched the back of her head. “I–um…”
His gaze sharpened, his voice dropping into that low, lethal tone that made even seasoned men falter. “Speak. Now.”
Her shoulders hunched, words tumbling out under the weight of his stare. “Miss Elton asked me to….to keep an eye on you, sir. She didn’t want you straining yourself.”
For a beat, silence filled the hall.
Then Alejandro’s mouth curved–not in his usual mocking smirk, but in something softer–lighter. His eyes gleamed as if someone had lit a fire behind them.
She was worried.
The thought wrapped around his chest like fire and silk all at once. She could pretend all she wanted, im indifference, even snap at him for being reckless— but beneath it all, she worried. She cared.
The thought warmed something deep inside his chest, something he didn’t even know was capable of warmth anymore.
As if fate itself were eager to prove his point, the helper’s phone buzzed loudly in her pocket. Startled, she fumbled to check it. She nced down, then quickly back up at him. “It’s Miss Elton.”
Alejandro didn’t hesitate. “Answer it and put it on speaker.”
The woman obeyed immediately, pressing the button.
“Has he woken up yet?” Nivera’s voice drifted through the speaker, a blend of worry and irritation. “Is he still resting?”
The helper flicked a nervous nce at Alejandro. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. The message was clear: lie.
“Yes, miss,” the helper lied quickly, trying to keep her voice steady under Alejandro’s re. “He’s still resting.”
14:39 Mon, Sep 8 <b>G </b>
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Alejandro bit back augh, delight curling through him as he watched her struggle to keep herposure under his gaze.
“Oh, good.” Relief filled Nivera’s words. “Keep an eye on him, please. Once he wakes up, make sure he eats something and takes his medication. Don’t let him wriggle out of it, understood?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Thank you,” Nivera said before the line went dead.
Alejandro exhaled slowly, savoring every syble she had spoken. She was worried. She cared enough to check, enough to issue orders, enough to fret over whether he’d eat.
Still on cloud nine, he stepped past the flustered helper without another word, descending the staircase with purposeful strides.
“Get me a driver,” he ordered one of the guards stationed near the door.
The man straightened instantly, speaking into his radio. Within minutes, a sleek ck car pulled up to the front entrance. Alejandro stepped inside, settling into the leather seat as though nothing were wrong with his bruised body.
The ride was silent, save for the hum of the engine, but his thoughts weren’t. Alejandro’s gaze fixed out the tinted window. His destination was not the office, nor one of the family’s holdings.
It was to her.
Nivera was about to walk the runway for the first time in over a year and he
wouldn’t miss it for the world.
The world had cast her aside, and he had pulled the strings to put her back in the spotlight. Celeste had been his pawn, the contract his maneuver.
Nivera thought she had wed her way back on her own and with Celeste’s action. There was no harm in letting her think it.
The car slowed, and even from a distance, he could see the shing lights, the frenzy of paparazzi crowding the entrance of the venue. The moment he stepped
out, the chaos erupted.
“Mr. Garcia!”
“Alejandro, over here!”
“Ig you’re here, does it mean Miss Elton is walking down the stage?”
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The questions flew like bullets, cameras shing so brightly they burned white spots into his vision.
Alejandro ignored them all, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the entrance. His guards immediately surrounded him, parting the sea of reporters and ushering him inside.
The interior of the venue was dimmer, calmer, though the buzz of excitement thrummed in the air. Staff hurried backstage, designers adjustedst–minute details, and guests trickled toward their seats.
Alejandro was escorted to the front row. He made sure he got a front row seat the moment he pitched Nivera to the brand.
He sank into his chair, one arm drapedzily across the backrest, his sharp eyes scanning the stage.
And then-
“Of course,” a familiar, disdainful voice drawled beside him. “You just had to show up.”
Alejandro turned slowly, the corners of his mouth curving into something deadly when his gaze locked on Damon.
The man smirked, lounging in the seat as though he owned it. “I should have guessed. You can’t stand the idea of her being out of your reach, can you?”
Alejandro’s eyes darkened, his voice slicing like steel. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“This is hardly your scene,” Damon murmured, his voice like a de in silk. “Did you lose your way to the nearest brothel?”
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Alejandro chuckled, unbothered by Damon’s words. “I’m exactly where I should be. Unlike you, I don’t need to orchestrate games just to get close to her.”
Damon chuckled, but it held no humor. “It’s only a matter of time before she realizes what a mistake you are. She’lle back to me.”
Alejandro’s teeth clenched. His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “In your wildest dreams. The only thing she regrets is ever wasting a second on you.”
“Is that what she told you?” Damon arched a brow, feigning nonchnce. “She might kiss you, Garcia, but let’s see how long thatsts once she remembers who really knows her.”
Alejandro’s jaw ticked. He leaned closer, his words a venomous whisper. “She’s not yours to talk about. Not anymore. And if you ever try to touch her again, I’ll make sure you don’t live to regret it.”
The bastard should thank his stars that there were people around else, he’d have taken out the grudge he still held for him taking Nivera out for lunch.
Besides, if Damon was here, that means he had gotten news that Nivera would be walking?
Who the hell told him that?
The air between them crackled, tension thick enough to choke. Both men stared the other down, predators circling, neither willing to retreat.
It was only the dimming of the lights, the signal that the show was about to begin, that forced them <i>to </i>pull back.
Alejandro’s fists tightened, his pulse pounding harder than it should as he took deep breaths to calm down.
The runway lights red to life. Music swelled, vibrant andmanding. Models began to stride onto the catwalk, tall and polished, draped in silks and satins that shimmered under the spotlight.
But Alejandro barely noticed them. His gaze was fixed, unblinking, waiting.
And then she appeared.
14:39 Mon, Sep 8 <b>G. </b>
Nivera.
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She stepped into the light like she had been born for it, every inch of her body radiating poise. Her long legs carried her with an effortless grace, the emerald gown flowing like liquid around her.
The room seemed to still, the air thickening before it erupted in shes and whispers, voices gasping her name.
Alejandro’s breath caught and his chest constricted.
He should have been used to beautiful women. He had been surrounded by them his entire life. But nothing–no one–looked like her.
And the worst part? Damon was right there beside him, watching her too.
Jealousy wed through his veins, sharp and possessive. His jaw locked, his eyes narrowing as Nivera turned at the end of the runway, her expression fierce, untouchable.
Every man in the room was watching and admiring her. His teeth clenched so hard it hurt, his possessiveness rising like a tidal wave.
Nivera was his.
Not Damon’s–not the world’s.
His.
And as she moved down the runway, Alejandro’s jealousy wed at him, sharp and brutal. Every eye on her felt like theft. Every sh of the cameras felt like someone daring <i>to </i>touch what didn’t belong to them.
The man the world saw–controlled, amused, untouchable–was gone.
What sat in that chair was something darker.
He finally knew what it meant to be jealous.
And God help anyone who tried toe between him and Nivera Elton.