Alexandra Steel hadn’t slept.
Not really.
There was no comfort in the police cell’s narrow bench, no privacy from the echoing voices behind cold bars, no rest from the constant churn of thoughts in her head. She’d spent the night in the same clothes, shivering despite the humidity, trying to slow her pulse and convince herself not to scream.
And now, at last—morning.
Her name was cleared.
There hadn’t been enough evidence. Not even close. Simon Hale's statement had been mysteriously retracted overnight, and the investigation folded with a shrug. Just like that.
No apology. No explanation. Just a mumbled, “You’re free to go.”
She stepped out of the station’s double doors and into a grey, overcast morning, her heels scraping softly against the concrete.
And there he was.
Luca.
He stood beside a black sedan, arms crossed, sharp in a charcoal suit that somehow made him look both colder and more worried than she’d ever seen him. His eyes locked on hers the moment she emerged, and something cracked in his posture—his chin dipped, his shoulders dropped a fraction.
He didn’t speak.
He simply walked around the car and opened the passenger door for her.
Alex climbed in without a word. She was too tired to think, too raw to ask questions.
The ride home was silent.
But not the tense kind. Not the accusatory stillness she’d braced for. Luca didn’t look at her once. He didn’t have to. His presence was steady, protective, like a wall built just for her to lean against.
It was enough.
When they reached the mansion, Alex stepped into the wide marble foyer like she hadn’t been gone at all. But it wasn’t empty this time.
Arthur was in one of the armchairs, legs crossed, nursing a teacup like he owned the place. Across from him, David Brown sat casually at the edge of the couch, his coat draped on the armrest, looking far too at home.
And in between them—Nova.
Wrapped in a cream cardigan, still a little pale, but smiling gently as she passed around sugar cubes like this was some polite afternoon tea.
Alex blinked.
The most dangerous men in her world were sipping jasmine tea with her mother.
“What is this, a tea party?” she muttered, dragging a hand through her tangled hair.
David glanced around as if he were the most innocent person ever.
“Well... yeah?”
“Can I at least take a shower first?” Alex raised an eyebrow.
No one answered.
She didn’t wait.
Upstairs, she let the water scald her skin. The smell of the holding cell clung to her like shame—sour polyester, cheap cleaning supplies, the faint reek of someone else’s sweat. She scrubbed until her arms turned red.
It wasn’t just about getting clean.
It was about shedding it all—the humiliation, the helplessness, the ache of betrayal that had lived in her chest ever since Zade looked her in the eye and said nothing while they dragged her away.
When she came back down, hair wet and face bare, Luca and Nova were gone. Probably tucked away in their room, where Nova could rest and Luca could pretend things weren’t falling apart.
Alex entered the study and found Arthur and David still there. But now, the tone was different.
Arthur was standing by the desk.
A single folder lay in front of him.
“Come sit,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
Alex obeyed, moving slowly. Her muscles ached.
Arthur flipped open the folder and turned it toward her. “This is the engagement contract,” he said. “The one tying you to Zade Hale.”
Her eyes skimmed it, confused at first. She had seen the paperwork before—barely, in passing. The legalese was thick, most of it handled by lawyers. She’d assumed it was standard. A formality. A merger of families, not businesses.
But it wasn’t.
“This clause,” Arthur pointed, tapping the paragraph near the middle, “grants your fiancé full rights of majority stake and controlling power over Steel Enterprises upon marriage. Retroactive. No matter what your father says. No matter what shares you already hold. The moment you sign a marriage certificate, Zade becomes your superior in the company structure.”
Alex froze.
Her chest tightened.
“No,” she said quietly. “That can’t be right. I—I’m the heir. I’m—”
“You were the heir,” Arthur corrected, grim. “Before you agreed to an engagement contract tied directly to Steel’s legal assets. It was worded carefully. Buried under emotional language about legacy and family.”
David leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “We triple-checked it. Zade doesn’t need to pull a hostile takeover. All he has to do is say, ‘I do.’”
For a moment, Alex couldn’t breathe.
She had been so careful. So vigilant. She knew the Hales were snakes, but she thought she could outplay them.
She hadn’t even seen the trap she’d walked into.
Her hands curled into fists. “Can we break it?”
Arthur exhaled through his nose. “We’re contacting two contract lawyers now. But don’t get your hopes up. The Hales aren’t stupid. They’ve got this locked down tight.”
Alex stared down at the paper again.
Her name, in black ink, beside Zade’s.
It was all a lie.
All that charm. The softness. The whispers of fate and future. It was never about her. It was always about Steel.
Alex looked up slowly.
“Find me a way out,” she said. “I don’t care what it takes.”
Arthur nodded and picked up the folder. “We’ll let you know what the lawyers say.”
David rose beside him. “You need rest,” he said. “Not more wars.”
“I’ll sleep when he stops winning,” she muttered.
They left her there, alone in the study.
She sat for a while.
Then her phone buzzed.
One message.
Zade: Are you out already?
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
What did he want?
A thank you? A performance of gratitude for calling off his father’s fake charges?
He hadn’t spoken up at the station. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t even looked her in the eye when she was shoved into the back of a police car.
But now—now—he wanted to check in?
Alex clenched her jaw.
She typed fast, then paused.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Alex: Don’t expect a thanks.
She hit send.
Then shut off her phone.
Let him sit with that silence.