King turned slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.
His smirk widened.
“Alexander.
What a pleasant surprise.” His eyes glinted with amusement.
“I was beginning to think you didn’t care about your pretty little fiancée at all.
Leaving her to wander off on her own like this.
Tsk, tsk.
Not very gentlemanly of you.” “Don’t.” Alexander’s voice was sharp, a blade cutting through the air.
“Don’t you dare talk to me about gentlemanly behavior when you’re standing in a cheap bar holding ‘my’ fiancée in your arms.” King’s smirk didn’t waver.
If anything, it grew.
“Your fiancée?
Is she?” He looked down at Kelly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with surprising gentleness.
“Funny.
When I found her, she wasn’t wearing a ring.
No engagement ring, no promise ring, not even a cheap band.
I wonder why that is.” Alexander’s jaw tightened.
“What are you doing here, King?” “Thirsty.” King shrugged, the motion casual and infuriating.
“I was passing by the bar, felt a little parched, and decided to stop for a drink.
Imagine my surprise when I walked in and found the future Mrs.
Alexander Morrowgate passed out at the bar, completely alone, completely defenseless.” His eyes met Alexander’s, cold and mocking.
“I couldn’t just leave her there, could I?
What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t take care of my future sister-in-law?” “You’re lying.” The words came out before Alexander could stop them.
He knew his brother too well.
King Morrowgate didn’t ‘pass by’ anywhere.
Every move he made was calculated, deliberate, designed to serve some hidden purpose.
He would never set foot in a place like ‘The Rusty Nail’ unless he had a reason.
And that reason, apparently, was Kelly.
Alexander’s gaze flickered to her unconscious face, hidden against King’s chest.
Something ugly curled in his stomach.
‘What does he want with her?’ “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Alexander said, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous, “but I don’t care.
I don’t care why you’re here.
I don’t care why you’re holding her.
The only thing that matters is that she is ‘mine.'” He emphasized the last word, letting it hang in the air like a challenge.
“She’s my fiancée.
Not yours.
And I suggest you remember that.” King’s smirk didn’t falter.
If anything, it deepened, spreading across his face like oil on water.
He looked at Alexander with an expression that was almost pitying, as if he were watching a child throw a tantrum over a toy he didn’t even want.
“Your fiancée,” King repeated slowly, tasting the words.
“Of course.
How could I forget?” He didn’t fight.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t even push back.
Instead, he lowered Kelly from his chest with surprising care, holding her upright with one arm while he gently—almost tenderly—transferred her weight toward Alexander.
“Take her,” King said, his voice soft and amused.
“She’s yours.” Alexander stepped forward and caught Kelly before she could collapse.
Her body fell against his, warm and heavy and reeking of whiskey.
His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, steadying her.
King released her slowly, deliberately, letting his fingers drag across her shoulder as he pulled away.
The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but Alexander caught it.
And it infuriated him.
“Take good care of her, little brother,” King said, his voice smooth as silk.
“She seems like a fragile thing.
Would be a shame if something happened to her.” Before Alexander could respond, King turned and walked toward the door.
His footsteps were unhurried, confident, the stride of a man who knew he had won something—even if Alexander couldn’t tell what it was.
At the door, King paused.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
“Oh, and Alexander?” He smiled.
A cold, knowing smile.
“I’ll be seeing you soon.
And your lovely fiancée as well.” Then he was gone.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Alexander standing in the middle of the grimy bar, holding an unconscious woman in his arms, seething with a fury he couldn’t quite name.
******* Alexander didn’t move for a long moment.
He stood there, Kelly’s weight pressed against him, her breath warm and sour against his neck, his mind racing through a hundred different questions.
‘What does King want?
Why was he really here?
Does he know about the arrangement?
Does he know she’s not really my fiancée?’ He looked down at Kelly’s face, partially hidden by her tousled wig and smeared makeup.
She looked so small.
So vulnerable.
So completely out of her depth in a world she didn’t belong in.
‘Who are you really, Kelly?’ He adjusted his grip on her, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her into his arms.
She was heavier than he expected.
Her head lolled against his chest, and she let out a small, pained groan.
“It’s okay,” Alexander muttered, surprising himself with the softness in his voice.
“I’ve got you.” He carried her out of the bar.
The night air hit them both, cool and refreshing after the stale atmosphere inside.
His driver was already waiting by the car, holding the back door open.
Alexander slid into the backseat, carefully lowering Kelly onto the seat beside him before climbing in after her.
“Drive us home,” he told the driver.
“The estate.” The car pulled away from the curb.
The drive was quiet.
Alexander stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, his mind churning with unanswered questions.
Beside him, Kelly was slumped against the leather seat, her breathing slow and heavy.
She was completely unconscious.
Completely vulnerable.
She had no idea who was taking her home, no idea what dangers she had stumbled into.
And more importantly, she had no idea what King’s interest in her meant.
Alexander turned to look at her.
Her wig had shifted, revealing strands of her natural hair—short, dark, messy.
Her makeup was a disaster, smeared across her face like war paint.
Her dress was wrinkled and stained.
She was drooling slightly, a thin line of saliva trailing from the corner of her mouth onto the leather seat.
She looked like a mess.
A complete, utter disaster.
And yet, Alexander couldn’t look away.
‘What does King want with her?’ He studied her face, searching for answers in the soft curves of her cheeks, the gentle slope of her nose, the quiet rise and fall of her chest.
There was nothing extraordinary about her features.
She was pretty, yes—but not the kind of stunning beauty that would usually catch the attention of a man like King Morrowgate.
King surrounded himself with models, actresses, heiresses.
Women who glittered like diamonds under the spotlight.
This woman was not that.
So why?
Alexander reached out, his fingers brushing against her wig.
He hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed the hair away from her face, wanting to see her clearly, to memorize every detail that might give him a clue about who she really was.
The moment her face was fully visible, his breath caught in his throat.
‘What the—’ His hand froze mid-air.
His eyes widened, the blood draining from his face.
Her lip was busted.
Swollen and split, with a dark crust of dried blood still clinging to the corner.
Her cheekbone was bruised—a deep, angry purple that spread across her skin like a storm cloud.
Her eye was swollen, the discoloration spreading outward in shades of black and blue.
She had done a poor job covering it with makeup, caking on foundation and powder in a desperate attempt to hide what had been done to her.
But Alexander saw it.
All of it.
Someone had beaten her.
A cold fury settled into Alexander’s bones, so deep and so sudden that it took his breath away.
His hands trembled as he gently tilted her face, examining the damage in the dim light of the car.
The bruising was fresh.
Recent.
Hours old at most.
‘Someone hurt her.
While she was supposed to be in my care.
While she was wearing my name.’ The thought ignited something primal in his chest.
A protective instinct he didn’t know he possessed coiled around his heart like a serpent, tightening with every bruise he discovered.
“That man on the phone,” Alexander whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Did he do this to you?” Kelly didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
She was lost in a whiskey-induced slumber, oblivious to the storm brewing around her.
Alexander’s mind raced.
The man on the phone.
The loan sharks he mentioned.
It was all connected—he could feel it, pieces of a puzzle he was only beginning to see.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was Kelly, bruised and broken and running from something she couldn’t escape.
‘What happened to you?
Where did you go when you left my office?
Who did you go to see?’ He had so many questions.
And no answers.
The car pulled through the gates of the Morrowgate estate, the familiar sight of the sprawling mansion doing nothing to calm the storm inside him.
The driver stopped at the entrance, and Alexander stepped out without waiting, reaching back to lift Kelly into his arms once again.
She groaned softly as he picked her up, her head lolling against his shoulder.
Her body was limp, her skin warm.
He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress, the soft flutter of her breath against his neck.
‘She’s alive.
That’s what matters.
She’s alive.’ He carried her up the steps and through the front door.
The servants stopped what they were doing as he entered, their eyes widening at the sight of their master carrying a disheveled, unconscious woman through the grand foyer.
Whispers erupted behind him like a swarm of bees—gossip spreading faster than wildfire through the estate.
Alexander ignored them.
He walked straight past the living room, past the dining hall, past the grand staircase where portraits of Morrowgate ancestors stared down at him with judgmental eyes.
He carried Kelly through the halls of his home with a single-minded determination, his jaw set, his eyes blazing.
He didn’t stop until he reached his bedroom.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him.
The lock clicked into place, sealing them off from the rest of the world.
To be continued…