Chapter13
That single phrase “Mr. Stone“-drove a wedge between them deeper than any wall could build.
Grace Miller turned politely back to the circle of men beside her and offered a faint smile.
“Gentlemen, excuse me for a moment.”
They nodded in understanding, though a few exchanged glances with Alexander Stone–glances edged with cool appraisal, some even carrying a flicker of mockery.
Alexander felt his chest ignite. Her distant tone, her refusal to acknowledge even a trace of familiarity–every word, every glance scraped at him like raw nerves. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before the words could come-
She shivered slightly, the ballroom chilled by the blasting AC, and rubbed her arm unconsciously.
Noah Carter, the young CEO of a rising tech empire, noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His voice was warm, casual, almost intimate.
“Careful. You’ll catch a chill.”
Grace blinked, momentarily taken aback, then smiled softly.
“Thank you.”
The simple exchange–natural, effortless–cut Alexander like a blade. Her serene gratitude, the easy warmth in Noah’s eyes, the sight of her wrapped in another man’s coat… fury and jealousy flared so hot and fast he nearly lost control. His fists clenched, veins standing out across his hand. He had to fight the urge to storm across the room and tear the jacket off her himself.
That night, he could not calm down.
Over and over, her face replayed in his mind–cold, self–contained, untouched by him. Her eyes no longer lingered on him, not even for a second. And then Noah’s jacket, Noah’s hand, Noah’s
voice…
The images replayed like a curse, each time burning deeper into his skull.
He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand her indifference, her silent dismissal, as though he no longer existed.
Something in him twisted–resentment, unwillingness, something darker he could not name.
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Possessiveness.
So he made a move.
Under the guise of business, he forced proximity. Using his influence, he dangled a lucrative brand collaboration worth tens of millions and demanded that Grace Studio (Northbridge) take the project. His one condition. Grace Miller herself must oversee it, personally, from start to finish.
At the project kickoff, Alexander arrived in person.
He sat at the head of the table, his gaze locked on her like a hawk tracking prey‘.
Grace stood at the front, dressed in professional attire, speaking with clarity and poise as she outlined the design vision. When challenged, she answered with measured reasoning, her
arguments calm yet firm. She was polished, sharp, and radiated a self–assurance he had never seen in her before.
He deliberately nitpicked minor details, probing, trying to catch her eye–perhaps even provoke a reaction. But she met him only with flawless professionalism, treating him as she would any difficult client. No indulgence. No softness. Not even the courtesy of warmth.
The harder he pressed, the cooler she became.
Every exchange landed with no impact, only deepening his frustration.
Then chaos struck.
Bella Hart had somehow tracked down the address of Grace Studio. She stormed in mid–afternoon, shrieking accusations of “seducing Alexander” and “refusing to disappear.” Her tantrum escalated into flung objects, until security restrained her and alerted both Grace and Alexander.
By the time Alexander arrived, Bella looked half–feral, her hair disheveled, still screeching. Grace stood a short distance away, her expression glacial.
“Mr. Stone,” she said flatly, her tone devoid of any warmth, “control your companion. This is a place of work, not a stage for her theatrics. If she shows up again, I’ll call the police.”
Her eyes–cold, sharp, merciless–cut through him.
Alexander turned from her to Bella, and shame burned up his throat. Rage followed close behind. He snapped at Bella, voice booming through the studio.
“Enough! Do you have any idea how disgraceful this is? Shut up and go home. Now!”
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Bella froze, stunned. Then her shock twisted into fury. Tears spilled as she shrieked louder.
“You‘ re yelling at me?! At me–for her?! Alexander, have you forgotten who-”
“Do you
his lips.
think
your so–called-” He stopped dead. The words had slipped, unbidden, halfway past
Do you think your supposed rescue…
The phrase lodged in his throat like a stone. He froze, jaw tightening, realizing he had nearly
spoken a truth he wasn‘ t ready to confront.
Chapter 13
