Chapter 3: The Spark and the Sabotage
The public rollout of their relationship was a masterclass in theater.
Their first appearance was at the grand opening of the City Arts Center. When Alexander stepped out of the matte-black Maybach, he didn't reach for his phone or wave to the paparazzi. Instead, he turned and offered his hand.
Lena emerged wearing a deep emerald gown that cascaded like liquid glass. The flashbulbs erupted in a blinding storm, but Lena didn't flinch. She placed her hand in Alexander’s, her grip firm.
“Smile,” she murmured under her breath, her lips barely moving. “You look like you’re walking to the gallows.”
“I’m terrified of you,” Alexander muttered back, a genuine, self-deprecating smirk touching his lips. “It’s a new feeling.”
Over the next few weeks, the fake engagement began to blur at the edges. Alexander found himself canceling board meetings just to watch Lena practice in the private studio his mother had gifted her. He watched her sweat, bleed, and push her body to the absolute limits of human grace. He began to see the immense weight of sorrow she carried, and the quiet strength she used to hold it up.
One evening, after a grueling session, they sat on the studio floor eating cheap takeout—a request from Lena.
“Why did you really challenge the room that night?” Lena asked, chewing on a dumpling.
Alexander stared at his chopsticks, dropping his arrogant shield. “Because I was empty, Lena. I was surrounded by people who only loved my bank account. I wanted to see if anyone had the spine to stand up to me. I just didn't expect a queen in a maid's dress.”
Lena looked at him, the harshness in her eyes softening. She reached out, her thumb gently wiping a smudge of soy sauce from his chin. The touch was electric. Alexander leaned into it, his eyes dropping to her lips.
Before the moment could escalate, Alexander’s phone buzzed aggressively.
He answered it, and his face drained of color. “What do you mean it’s gone viral?”
He turned the screen to Lena. It was a vicious tabloid article, leaked by an "anonymous source." It claimed Lena was a gold-digging fraud who had faked her identity, accompanied by doctored photos implying she had been involved in illicit affairs to survive the last five years.
“Vanessa,” Lena breathed, her hands balling into fists. “Her father is trying to discredit me before our investigators find the proof of his embezzlement.”
May you like
Alexander stood up, his eyes blazing with a protective fury he had never known before. He didn't care about the PR. He didn't care about the stock prices. He only cared about the woman sitting on the floor.
“Get dressed,” Alexander said, his voice cold as steel. “We are going to pay Arthur and Vanessa Vance a visit.”
