Chapter 112
"Ma’am, this is the preliminary draft for the new estate project," Audrey, one of Fleur’s lead interior designers, said softly. Her voice carried a faint trace of hesitation as she offered the portfolio. "I personally inspected the site and aligned every detail with our client’s preferences. If you could review it, we can begin construction immediately."
Audrey glanced at Fleur nervously, well aware of her boss’s uncompromising standards. When it came to architecture, Fleur accepted nothing short of perfection.
Fleur took the portfolio and scanned the blueprints, giving a subtle nod. "Hmm, the structural layout is solid..." She murmured, still immersed in the blueprints. "However, the western wing needs—"
She cut herself off as her phone chimed with a sharp notification.
The screen displayed a text from an unlisted, private number. Signaling with a raised finger for Audrey to wait, Fleur unlocked the device, a mild wave of curiosity pulling at her.
As her eyes scanned the text, her breath hitched. Her lips parted in shock as she instinctively tried to hide her sudden panic.
"Audrey, give me a few minutes," Fleur said, forcing her voice into a rigid, artificial calm. "I’ll call you back into the studio."
Sensing the sudden shift in the air, Audrey nodded politely and slipped out, leaving Fleur alone in the silent office.
Fleur’s hand trembled so violently she nearly dropped the device. The words burned into her retinas, cold and merciless:
Stay away from Christian Wayne, or be ready to see your children dead, one by one. I will show them no mercy.
An icy wave of terror gripped her chest, tightening like an iron band around her ribs. Her pulse hammered in her ears as her mind struggled to process the gravity of the threat. She clutched the phone until her knuckles turned white, the terrifying weight of the words crashing down on her.
Who could send something so twisted? Why target her sweet, innocent pups?
Fear spiraled into raw, motherly fury. Her children were her life, her soul, her entire reason for breathing. A mother’s protective instinct surged through her veins like fire, drowning out every other thought. She would burn the world to ashes for her children. Nothing else mattered—not her career, not her safety, and certainly not her complicated, dangerous bond with her mafia Alpha.
For a long moment, the quiet hum of the studio dissolved into total silence. What was she supposed to do now?
***
"Where on earth are you, Raphael?" Mila huffed into her phone, pacing the pavement outside the high-end shopping district.
They were supposed to pick out an engagement ring together—a calculated move arranged by his public relations team. Being spotted inside an exclusive jeweler, discreetly selecting a diamond, was guaranteed to spark a frenzy of national headlines and bury his previous scandal.
Yet, she had been standing outside for over an hour, and the movie star was nowhere to be found.
"I’m ten minutes away," Raphael’s smooth voice drawled through the speaker, making Mila let out a loud, irritated sigh.
"Which means I have to keep standing on the street," she grumbled.
"Why don’t you head inside and start browsing?" Raphael suggested casually. "I’ll be there by the time you narrow it down. You women always take forever to choose jewelry anyway, don’t you?"
Mila rolled her eyes at his arrogance, but knowing her professional reputation was on the line, she gave in. "Fine."
She stepped through the double glass doors of Tiffany & Co., instantly overwhelmed by the glittering displays.
She had spent her life dreaming of luxury, but her reality had never allowed for it. Despite her decent salary as a celebrity publicist, every spare dollar went toward her grandmother’s ICU bills, her uncle’s endless demands, and the rent for Daniel’s apartment. Fine jewelry was an impossible dream.
The showroom was a sanctuary of wealth. Exquisite diamond necklaces, emerald cuffs, and platinum bands sparkled under custom lighting. Mila wandered down the aisles, letting the beauty of the craft momentarily distract her from her heavy debts.
"May I help you?"
The sharp voice broke her spell. A senior sales associate approached, her polished smile entirely devoid of warmth. Her eyes swept over Mila, taking in her oversized sweater, worn shoulder bag, and lack of designer labels. The woman’s lips twitched in subtle disgust, clearly suspecting Mila had wandered into the wrong tier of retail.
"Yes," Mila said, offering a polite smile. "I’m looking for an engagement ring."
"And what is your budget, ma’am?" the sales associate asked, her tone dripping with polite skepticism.
"I haven’t set a firm limit yet. I just want to see your finer pieces," Mila replied calmly.
The associate let out a faint, dismissive snort, leaning in slightly. "Are you entirely certain you can afford anything in this showroom?"
Mila froze. "Excuse me?"
"Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but you are clearly out of your depth," the associate murmured condescendingly. "There is a commercial silver shop across the street. You will find something far more aligned with your means over there."
Without waiting for a response, the woman deliberately brushed past Mila, bumping her shoulder as she rushed to greet a newly entered couple. "Good evening, sir! Welcome to Tiffany’s. How may I assist you today?"
Mila stood frozen, humiliation burning hot behind her eyes. Shaking her head, she turned toward the glass doors, wanting nothing more than to escape.
"Mila?" a sharp voice called out.
Mila stopped, turning to see Victoria standing near the bridal display. Her former classmate was draped in a designer silk dress, her hand wrapped possessively around the arm of a broad, sharply dressed man.
"Victoria," Mila said softly, trying to muster a polite smile.
"What are you doing in a place like this?" Victoria asked, a mocking glint in her eyes.
Despite playing the sweet friend back in college, Victoria had always loathed Mila. Mila had consistently held the highest marks, earned top scholarships, and won the respect of their professors. Victoria had hidden her bitter jealousy behind a sugary smile, silently praying for Mila to fail in the real world.
"I came to look at rings," Mila replied, swallowing her pride.
"At Tiffany’s, Mila?" Victoria whispered loudly, covering her mouth with a manicured hand as if suppressing a laugh.
"I know where I am, Vicky," Mila said, her voice tight.
"I told her the exact same thing, Miss Victoria," the sales associate chimed in, stepping over with a smug grin. "Some people simply don’t understand where they belong."
"Oh, you poor thing," Victoria tittered. "By the way, you haven’t met my fiancé! This is Timothy Nelson. He was just listed on Forbes’ young billionaires list," she added proudly, hugging his arm tighter.
"Congratulations, Victoria. I’m happy for you," Mila offered politely.
"Thanks," the woman purred, her eyes scanning Mila’s simple clothes. "So, are you still entirely alone, or did some poor soul finally take pity on you?"
"I have a partner, and we are getting married soon," Mila said simply, refusing to be humiliated. "That’s why I came to choose my ring."
"You’re buying your own engagement ring?" Victoria and the associate burst into synchronized laughter, drawing glances from nearby shoppers.
Mila’s throat tightened, the reality of her sham marriage cutting deep. She was selling a year of her life for a contract, buying her own ring like a hired employee.
"Oh, Mila, how utterly pathetic!" Victoria laughed, shaking her head. "Your little boyfriend couldn’t even bother to show up, so you have to buy your own ring? Look at Timothy—he’s buying me the most expensive canary diamond in the vault. Right, darling?"
"Whatever you want, sweetheart," the man smirked, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
"I suppose bad luck just follows you around, Mila," Victoria sneered, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You’re marrying some penniless nobody who can’t even afford to step foot in this store."
The harsh words stung, tears of humiliation brimming at the edges of Mila’s eyes. She turned toward the exit, desperate to escape the cruel judgment.
"Who said her fiancé didn’t show up?"
A deep, velvet-smooth voice echoed through the showroom, silencing every conversation in the room.
Everyone turned. Mila’s heart leaped into her throat as she saw Raphael striding through the grand entrance. Dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding stature, he moved with the effortless grace of an apex predator.
Gasps flared across the showroom as customers recognized the global icon. But Raphael ignored the murmurs, his intense, striking blue eyes locked entirely onto Mila.
"I’m so sorry, sweetheart," Raphael purred softly, closing the distance between them. A lazy, dangerous smirk played on his lips as he wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his broad chest.
Leaning down, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss against her blushing cheek, his deep voice carrying clearly to everyone present.
"Traffic was unbearable... but your husband is here now."