Chapter 106
Fleur, swept up in the intoxicating heat of the moment, didn’t let him finish.
"Baby..." he murmured, his large palms cupping her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone as he prepared to confess the truth of the bond. But she leaned in, crashing her lips against his as if she couldn’t get enough of her Alpha.
Christian let out a low, amused rumble against her mouth, his chest vibrating with a dark chuckle, but Fleur didn’t care. The primal pull of the mate bond had taken over. All she wanted was to lose herself in his touch, to drown in his dark cedarwood scent, and to be kissed by him for eternity.
"Amore mio," Christian whispered against her lips, a rare, breathtaking smile tugging at his mouth. Fleur groaned in frustration, her hands gripping his hair to pull him back down, entirely unwilling to break the connection.
Suddenly, a loud, intrusive ringtone shattered the silence of the master suite.
The sharp noise cut through the heavy haze of lust. Fleur broke the kiss abruptly, her gaze darting frantically around the room to find the source of the interruption. She spotted her phone lying on the hardwood floor, where it had been carelessly tossed during their frantic undressing.
Reluctantly, Fleur pulled away, severing the intense heat of their connection. A sharp spike of irritation and possessive jealousy flared through Christian’s veins. His wolf growled, baring its fangs at the invisible intruder who had dared to steal his mate’s attention.
His brow furrowed, his silver eyes darkening with dangerous frustration as the loss of her touch left him cold. He watched her scramble toward the phone, the sudden break in the tension souring his mood instantly.
Christian rose from the mattress, standing tall and imposing behind Fleur as she bent down to retrieve the device. As she straightened up, she swept a tumble of tangled hair over her shoulder. Standing completely bare before him, she felt no desire to hide herself. Instead, a primal instinct urged her to flaunt her body, hoping the raw sight of her curves would keep the distant Alpha tethered to her side.
She offered a shy, breathless smile, biting her lower lip as she glanced over her shoulder, catching Christian’s hungry, predatory gaze scanning her exposed skin. Feeling a rush of heat stain her cheeks, she flipped the phone over.
The caller ID flashed brightly in the dim room: Raphael Dumas.
The phone continued to vibrate relentlessly in her hand. Fleur hesitated, her mind tearing between the professional obligation to her friend and the dark beast waiting in her bed. Making a swift choice, she pressed the side button, silencing the ringer, intending to call the actor back later.
But she was too late. She couldn’t see the violent storm that had already erupted across Christian’s features the exact second Raphael’s name appeared on the screen.
The fragile peace shattered. The crushing weight of jealousy and bitter obsession surged back into the Alpha’s chest, sharper and more vicious than before. His mind flashed back to the hospital, remembering how fiercely Fleur had fought for the human star, throwing vicious accusations at Christian without a single shred of proof.
The bitter realization twisted like a silver blade in his gut: Raphael still held a massive piece of her heart. His expression hardened into a mask of pure ice as he battled the agonizing thought that maybe his mate truly was better off with the safe, flawless movie star—far away from the blood and brutality of the Blood Moon pack.
He didn’t stay to watch her silence the device. Turning on his heel, Christian swiftly began gathering his scattered clothes from the floor.
Fleur’s brow furrowed in utter confusion. She watched him pull on his crisp shirt, the sudden, frigid shift in his demeanor making her head spin. Just seconds ago, his wolf had been ready to claim her, demanding to love her until dawn. What could have possibly changed in a heartbeat?
"Christian, what’s wrong?" she asked softly, a thread of raw concern tightening her throat.
"Huh. You didn’t answer the phone?" Christian snorted, his tone dripping with mockery as he fastened his cuffs.
"No. I silenced it. I’ll call him back later," Fleur replied calmly, stepping toward him, her eyes wide with perplexity.
"There’s no need to put on a performance for me, Fleur. Go back to your little savior," Christian said, a dismissive, cruel scoff escaping his lips.
"He is a friend, Christian, he isn’t my boyfriend!" Fleur shot back, her inner fire flaring defensively.
Now fully dressed in his sharp suit, Christian turned to face her. His eyes burned with an intense, suffocating mix of frustration, rage, and heartbreak. His glare was a physical force in the room as he leveled a cold, cutting question at his mate.
"Is that so?"
***
A few minutes earlier,
Raphael lounged in the plush leather chair of his private suite, a script for his upcoming blockbuster resting in his lap. His eyes scanned the dialogue, though his mind was entirely elsewhere.
His robust constitution had worked wonders over the past week; the deep marks and fractured bones inflicted by the mercenaries had fully knitted together, leaving him feeling as fit, fast, and lethal as ever.
"Raphael, you need to look at this right now," a sharp voice squealed in pure frustration.
Raphael snapped his head up, his gaze narrowing at his PR manager, Mila Redwood. Despite managing the public image of a global superstar, Mila insisted on a painfully modest, nerdy aesthetic—oversized glasses, her dark hair scraped into a messy bun, and clothes that swallowed her frame.
But it wasn’t her appearance that irritated his dominant instincts; it was her grating tone. Mila was the only person who routinely ignored his star power, treating him like a reckless teenager whenever a scandal broke. He absolutely loathed being managed by someone he outranked in age and status.
"What did I supposedly do this time?" Raphael asked, his voice dripping with icy indifference.
Mila narrowed her baby-blue eyes, marching over and dropping onto the suede sofa with a loud, dramatic huff. "Have you ever considered consulting me before broadcast-bombarding the entire media grid with a surprise marriage proposal to Miss Swann?" she shot back, her voice shaking with rage.
"Mila, I’m not in the mood for this. What exactly is the problem?" Raphael demanded, his scent spiking with irritation as he fought to keep his inner wolf from growling.
"How would you know, Raphael Dumas? You live in your own gilded, untouchable world and don’t give a damn about the real fallout, do you?" Mila mocked, her temper flaring.
Managing his public persona was a constant battle, and if his career tanked, her professional reputation went down with it. She leaned forward, tapping her tablet aggressively.
"You proposed to Miss Swann in front of the world, and now she’s being hounded by paparazzi while completely bare-fingered. No ring, no joint statements. Then you mysteriously vanish in what the press is calling a dangerous ’criminal abduction.’ The public is starting to brand you as an erratic, unreliable liability. I’ve just offloaded three separate calls from primary investors threatening to pull their funding from your next trilogy."
She took a sharp, steadying breath, trying to bring her racing pulse under control. "The director and producers are under immense pressure from the studio executives. The narrative is spinning entirely out of our control, and your rivals are already weaponizing this to permanently tank your box-office draw."
Raphael stared at her, completely unfazed by the corporate panic.
"Raphael! The studio is practically on fire. How can you sit there looking so smug?" Mila grumbled.
"Listen, Miss Tension, breathe," he replied smoothly. He had long since nicknamed her ’Tension’ because she only ever materialized when a crisis was brewing. "I am Raphael Dumas. A few tabloid rumors and nervous investors can’t touch a legacy like mine." He flashed a lazy, arrogant smirk, stretching his arms along the backrest of his chair.
Mila rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to tear into his arrogance, when the double doors burst open. Raphael’s assistant, Larry, stumbled into the suite, his face pale and his breathing frantic as he clutched an iPad to his chest.
"You need to see this!" Larry panted, his human heart hammering wildly.
"What is wrong with everyone today?" Raphael muttered, leaning forward with a frown as Mila handed the breathless assistant a glass of water.
"Thanks," Larry choked out, draining the glass before slamming it down on the glass-top table.
"Alright, Larry, speak," Raphael commanded, casually propping his polished boots up on the table.
"Sir, the fallout is catastrophic," Larry stammered, his eyes wide with genuine fear. "The production house wants to invoke the morality and liability clauses in your contracts. They are moving to drop you from the future slate entirely, and they’re already talking about cutting your screen time in the current film to phase you out."
"What?!" Raphael surged out of his chair, his boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud. The casual arrogance melted off his face, replaced by pure disbelief. "That’s impossible! They can’t replace me!"
"Look at the official notices, sir," Larry whispered sorrowfully, handing over the iPad.
"What the absolute fuck!" Raphael roared, his eyes scanning the formal termination drafts from the studio heads. "How dare they? I built this franchise! I am the face of this studio!"
"Now do you see what I was trying to warn you about?" Mila sighed heavily, watching him pace the room.
For all her nagging, Mila worked tirelessly to protect his empire. Beneath her professional, strict exterior, she was deeply devoted to him—captivated by his cinematic genius and undeniable aesthetic appeal. When the news had leaked that Fleur Swann had rejected his hand, Mila had secretly despised the woman, baffled that any female could turn down a man who had the entire world kneeling at his feet.
"Mila Redwood, you are my PR director," Raphael snapped, turning his burning gaze on her. "Fix this. That is exactly why I pay you a seven-figure retainer."
"I’ve already analyzed the metrics," Mila said, her voice tightening as she stood up. "And there is only one foolproof strategy to salvage your public image and pacify the board."
"Then stop wasting time and tell me," Raphael demanded impatiently.
Mila looked him dead in the eye, her tone entirely serious. "You need to get married, Raphael. Immediately. We need a high-profile, stable romance to erase the Swann disaster and prove to the studio that you are a reliable, family-oriented leading man."