Alexander turned to face Kelvin, his arms crossed, his eyes boring into him with an intensity that made Kelvin’s knees weak.
“But first, we’re going to take care of your injuries.
Then, when I’m sure you’re not going to collapse and die in my house, you’re going to explain to me—everything.” Kelvin’s blood ran cold.
‘Everything.’ That word hung in the air like a guillotine blade, waiting to fall.
Did “everything” include the fact that he was a man?
That he had lied about his identity from the very first moment they met?
He opened his mouth, ready to spill the truth, ready to beg for mercy—but Alexander wasn’t finished.
“You left the company in the middle of the day, against my explicit instructions.
You went somewhere I don’t know.
You got beaten to within an inch of your life.
And then you got so drunk you couldn’t stand.” Alexander’s voice was cold, clinical, each word a precise incision.
“I specifically told you not to embarrass me, Kelly.
And yet, here we are.” Kelvin’s throat tightened.
He dropped his gaze, unable to meet Alexander’s eyes.
“I know.
I’m sorry.
I can explain—” “Yes.
You will.” Alexander walked toward him, and Kelvin instinctively stepped back.
Alexander stepped forward again.
Kelvin stepped back again, his heel hitting the arm of a couch, his body tilting backward.
He was trapped.
Alexander loomed over him, tall and imposing, his face unreadable.
Kelvin braced himself for the anger, the accusations, the inevitable moment when Alexander would figure out the truth and call the police.
Then Alexander bent down.
Before Kelvin could react, strong arms slid around his back and under his knees.
The world tilted, and Kelvin let out a yelp as Alexander lifted him into the air, cradling him against his chest like a bride.
“W-what are you doing?!” Kelvin gasped, his hands instinctively grabbing onto Alexander’s shoulders for balance.
“You’re hurt,” Alexander said, his voice flat but not unkind.
“You can barely stand.
So I’m carrying you.” “I can walk!” “You can barely breathe without wincing.
Don’t argue with me.” Kelvin’s face flushed—partly from embarrassment, partly from the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Here he was, a grown man, being carried bridal style across an enormous bedroom by one of the most powerful men in the city.
If anyone saw them…
Alexander carried him to the bed, but instead of laying him down, he sat on the edge of it, settling Kelvin onto his lap.
Kelvin’s breath caught.
He could feel the heat of Alexander’s body through his dress, the firmness of his thighs beneath him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
This was too close.
Too intimate.
He could feel every line of Alexander’s body pressed against his, and it sent a shiver down his spine that he desperately tried to suppress.
“Alexander—” Kelvin’s voice came out in a croak.
“Stay still.” Alexander reached for the first aid kit on the nightstand, opening it with one hand while the other kept a firm grip on Kelvin’s waist.
“I’m going to continue treating your wounds.
And then you’re going to talk.” Kelvin sat frozen in Alexander’s lap, his heart pounding, his mind racing.
Alexander hadn’t discovered the truth.
That much was clear.
He still thought Kelvin was Kelly, a woman, his fake fiancée.
But how long would that last?
How long before the bindings shifted, before Alexander noticed the broadness of his shoulders, the angular lines of his jaw, the complete absence of curves where curves should be?
‘I’m sitting on his lap,’ Kelvin thought, his brain short-circuiting.
‘I’m a man sitting on another man’s lap, dressed as a woman, pretending to be his fiancée, and he’s about to put more bandages on my face.’ This was the most insane situation he had ever been in.
Alexander picked up a cotton ball and dabbed it in antiseptic.
He brought it to Kelvin’s face, his touch surprisingly gentle as he cleaned a cut near Kelvin’s eyebrow.
Kelvin flinched, hissing through his teeth.
“Hold still.” “It stings.” “Pain means it’s working.” Kelvin fell silent, his eyes fixed on Alexander’s face.
In the soft light of the bedroom, with his brow furrowed in concentration and his hands moving with unexpected tenderness, Alexander looked almost…
gentle.
It was a far cry from the cold, calculating businessman who had signed the contract just days ago.
“Why are you doing this?” Kelvin asked, his voice small.
Alexander didn’t look up.
His hands continued their work, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton ball with surgical precision.
“Doing what?” “Carrying me.
Treating my wounds.
Not firing me for embarrassing you.” Kelvin swallowed hard, his throat dry.
“You could have thrown me out.
You could have ended the contract.
So why aren’t you doing that?
Why this?”