You Are Mine To Desecrate

Rare kindness

Ava's POV

The gardens behind the Grand Regent were quiet — too quiet compared to the ballroom’s chaos.

The sound of clinking glasses, fake laughter, and jazz slipped away the farther I walked, swallowed by the hush of night. Out here, the air was different — softer, carrying the cool whisper of damp grass and roses.

I stumbled a little, the wine bottle in my hand tilting dangerously before I steadied it. Half the bottle was gone already. I didn’t even remember drinking that much.

The gravel path crunched under my heels as I wandered deeper, passing manicured hedges and white stone fountains lit by soft golden lamps. Somewhere nearby, water trickled gently, and the faint scent of lavender drifted through the air.

I should’ve gone home. I should’ve been working, fighting, begging for investors. But tonight… God, tonight, I didn’t have the strength.

I dropped onto a stone bench tucked under an arch of climbing roses. The petals brushed against my shoulder, delicate, perfect. I stared at them until my vision blurred and turned them into smudges of red and pink.

My throat burned, and before I knew it, my chest was shaking. Silent, stupid tears slipped down my cheeks, hot against the cool night air. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to keep the sounds in, but they came anyway — broken little gasps that made my ribs ache.

I hated this, the feeling of weakness. Hated that no matter how hard I fought, it still wasn’t enough. The email. The debts. The fake smiles in that glittering room. My mother’s company hanging by a thread. I was just… so tired.

I tipped the bottle back, the wine biting my tongue as I swallowed too quickly. My lipstick had already smudged, and I knew my eyes were a mess of ruined makeup, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, my hair falling around my face like a curtain. The muffled sounds of the party drifted faintly from far away, but here… it felt like the whole world had gone still, like it was just me and my mess.

“Drinking alone? That’s never a good sign.”

I froze. My heart skipped, once, sharp and unexpected. I didn’t need to turn to know that smooth, deep voice.

Alexander.

I straightened immediately, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. It probably only made the mess worse, but I didn’t care. I stood quickly, too quickly, and swayed just enough to give myself away.

When I finally faced him, he was standing a few steps away, hands in his pockets, the soft garden lights cutting sharp lines across his face. He looked out of place here — too cold, too sharp for this softness of roses and ivy.

“What are you doing here?” My voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and I hated that, too.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, realizing there was nothing clever to say. I shrugged weakly instead, clutching the wine bottle like it was something solid to hold onto.

His eyes dropped to the bottle, then back to me. “You’re upset.”

I almost laughed at that. “Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”

He didn’t react. Just kept looking at me like he could see straight through the smudged makeup and red eyes and the exhaustion buried under my bones.

For a second, neither of us said anything. The fountain trickled behind us. A night breeze carried the faint scent of damp earth and roses between us.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “It’s okay to break, Ava.”

I blinked, startled by the softness in his tone. Alexander Thompson was many things — cold, lethal, unreadable — but kind? Never.

I stared at him, unsure what to do with this version of him. “I’m fine,” I lied. My voice came out rough, too quick. “I can handle it.”

He studied me, his silence heavier than any response. Then, with a faint sigh, he said, “No, you can’t. Not like this.”

Something in my chest twisted, and I looked away before he could read any more of me.

"I should... I should go home."

I pushed myself off the bench and took a step, but the ground tilted beneath me. Did the path shift? My heel slipped on the gravel. Oh no, I'm gonna hit my face flat. I cry internally. I was an inch away from hitting my nose on the ground when a strong steady arm pulled me and I was against him in seconds.

I gasped, still trying to understand what just happened. Both of my hands instinctively clutched his shirt. The fabric was smooth and cool under my fingertips, his cologne wafted in my nostrils— cedar with something warmer beneath it.

I inhaled his scent like a puppy. I caught him staring at me somewhat amused. We froze like that, barely breathing, his face inches from mine. His eyes were darker than the night around us. It was unreadable and focused entirely on me.

My throat went dry. I know I should've stepped back, disengaged myself from him. My feet remained stuck and my stupid brain froze every command it was supposed to give to other parts of my body.

Then Ian's voice broke the moment and I was so grateful to him.

"Sir— uh, Mr Thompson— people inside are asking of you. They've been waiting for over…” he glanced at his watch. "..an hour and half now."

I jerked back, heat flooding my cheeks. Expecting Alexander to move, he stayed put. He didn't even look at Ian.

"Tell them I won't be returning," he said while still staring at me. "Represent me."

I turned to look at him, startled. Ian hesitated, his face mirroring mine too. We were clearly thrown off. "Sir .. you want me to—"

"Yes, Ian." Alexander cut in. "Go. I will escort Miss Morales back home."

My eyes widened. Clearly, I must be drunk right to the point of hearing things.

Ian's gaze flicked to me, then back to his boss, but he said nothing more. He nodded once and disappeared.

It was just us again. I bit my lower lips before barely finding my voice. "You.. you didn't have to stay."

Did the wine make me sound this way? Like a little cat seeking refuge.

"Yes, I did," he simply said.

"I can go back home on my own. You don't need to escort me." I staggered when I tried to walk.

Before I could protest, he bent slightly, and in one swift motion, I was in his arms —carried effortlessly in a bridal style.

I yelped, clutching his shoulder. "Xander!! Put me down, I can walk on my own."

"Xander? Hmmm.. I like the sound of that." He looked straight into my eyes.

I widened my eyes before covering my mouth with my left hand. This f*****g alcohol made me feel tipsy to the point that I'm now calling him what I only call him in my damn dreams.

He chuckled at my reaction. "You can barely stand, Miss Morales, let alone drive your car."

"Who says I can't do that?" I asked defiantly, pushing against his chest.

"Stop moving, or you'll fall. And if you do, people around will see your face and think you are my girlfriend." He warned softly.

Immediately he said that, I shrink into his arms. I don't want no embarrassment. I know being seen as Alexander's girlfriend is something most girls would want but as for me, no thank you. I don't want to be seen as this jerk's girlfriend.

I heard him chuckle again, my fist curl into a ball. My pulse is a wild drum in my ears. His heartbeat was steady beneath me, infuriatingly steady. I leaned my head more into his chest listening to the thump thump sound of his heartbeat.

The scent of him wrapped around me, mingling with the roses and night air as he carried me back towards the hotel front drive. The noise from the ballroom faded entirely, leaving only the soft crunch of gravel under his polished shoes.

I started to drift off to sleep under the protection of his arms.