Chapter 8: Busted
1269 Words
Ciara took a sharp breath, squaring her shoulders. She stared down at the unique ring Alexandier had slipped onto her finger in the limo. It was a masterpiece of high fashion—a rare Toi et Moi style where a massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond sat side-by-side with an exotic, midnight-peacock Tahitian black pearl. It was beautiful, heavy, and a clear shield to show the world she belonged to a billionaire. She wiped her damp palms discreetly against the fabric of her dress.
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Sterling. You weren't riding a public bus twenty-four hours ago."
"The bus doesn't matter," Alexandier said, his voice calm but firm as he adjusted his cuffs. "Your mouth does. Use it."
The heavy oak doors swung open, and they walked in. The dining hall was breathtakingly grand. A thirty-foot mahogany table was set with crystal, silver, and enough food to feed a small village. Seated around it were the powerful members of the Sterling family—the board-member uncles, the diamond-covered aunts, and near the end of the table sat Julian, wearing a smug grin.
As Alexandier and Ciara approached, the clinking of silverware died down to a judgmental, icy silence. Dozens of aristocratic eyes locked onto Ciara, scanning her from head to toe.
Alexandier took Ciara to introduce her to his parents and a few of his uncles and aunts. After the brief introductions, he guided her toward the dining table, totally ignoring the angry look on his mother's face.
The grand dining room of the Sterling Estate was suffocatingly formal. A massive crystal chandelier hung over the table, gleaming against fine porcelain. The atmosphere had been tense from the moment they walked in, but the real storm broke just as the main course was served.
"Alexandier," Aunt Beatrice, a woman with a face pulled tight by plastic surgery and a neck draped in heavy pearls, spoke up. Her voice dripped with high-society condescension. "We were beginning to think the rumors weren't true. So... this is the young lady from the gala? I must say, Alexandier, we expected you to choose someone from a family with... measurable assets. It’s quite a surprise to see a Sterling bringing home a charity case."
A few of the younger cousins snickered into their linen napkins. Julian simply swirled his wine glass, watching Alexandier, waiting to see his cousin lose his temper and look weak in front of the family elders.
Ciara felt a hot wave of humiliation threaten to break her composure. Her hands began to tremble slightly beneath the table line.
But before she could speak, Alexandier shifted beside her. Beneath the heavy silk tablecloth, away from the prying eyes of the family, his large, warm hand reached out. He firmly encased her sweaty, trembling hand in his own.
His grip was tight, commanding, and anchoring. The intense heat of his palm surged up her arm, instantly stopping her tremors. He didn't look at her, keeping his face cold and unreadable as he stared at his aunt, but his fingers squeezed hers gently, sending a silent, powerful message: I have you. Stand tall.
Alexandier's touch calmed Ciara. Her nervousness faded, replaced by her usual sharp wit. She let out a soft laugh that caught everyone's attention.
"A charity case?" Ciara asked, her voice ringing with flawless, biting confidence as she looked directly at the older woman. "I suppose that depends on how you measure assets. If you mean bank accounts, then yes, my background is modest. But if you mean character, dignity, and the courage to look someone in the eye without a team of publicists spinning a lie... then I'd say I'm bringing a massive inheritance to this family. After all, money can buy pearls, but it clearly can't buy manners."
The entire table went dead silent. It was like a fork literally clattered against a porcelain plate. Nobody—absolutely nobody—talked back to Aunt Beatrice.
Julian’s smirk faltered. He glanced at Alexandier, expecting his cousin to rebuke Ciara for her insolence, but Alexandier merely picked up his glass of wine, a dark, dangerous glint of pure satisfaction flashing in his grey eyes.
"How dare you—" Beatrice stammered, her face turning an angry shade of pink.
"She is entirely right, Beatrice," a booming, authoritative voice echoed from the head of the table.
Ciara turned her head to see Alexandier’s father, Authur Sterling, the son of King Sterling. King had been the head of the Sterling family and Alexandier's grandfather before he passed away. Authur was the fierce patriarch who had built the foundation of the empire right after taking over from his father. He was a stern, intimidating man with black hair streaked with silver, and grey eyes just like Alexandier’s.
Authur looked at Ciara, his sharp gaze studying her fierce posture and the unyielding fire in her eyes. Slowly, his stern face cracked into a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the high ceilings.
"Brilliant!" Authur declared, slamming his hand on the table with a smile. "An honest mouth in a room full of flatterers. Alexandier, your grandfather's will demanded you marry a woman of substance. I was worried you’d bring home some spineless socialite who only cares about your stock options. But this girl has iron in her spine. I like her."
He raised his glass toward Ciara. "Welcome to the family, Ciara Vance."
Ciara smiled warmly, inclining her head respectfully. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."
Sitting across from them, Alexandier’s mother, Eleanor, looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon. She shot Ciara a cold, furious glare, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her wine glass. She didn't say a word, but her eyes promised war. Ciara was not worth her son, and she would make sure of it.
Julian, seeing his aunt’s fury, leaned forward, his focus shifting entirely to Alexandier. "A sharp tongue is entertaining, uncle, but the board audit is in five days' time. Stockholders don't care about iron spines; they care about stability. Let's see if Alexandier's position can survive the questions we have lined up."
Alexandier slowly released Ciara’s hand under the table, leaning back in his chair. He loomed over the table, his commanding aura instantly suffocating Julian's brief moment of confidence.
"My position is absolute, Julian," Alexandier murmured, his voice smooth, quiet, and laced with a lethal threat. "Enjoy your dinner. Because tomorrow, I am going to strip you of every voting proxy you possess."
"I believe we've heard enough," one of the uncles voiced, staring sternly at them to restore order.
But Julian wasn't finished. Determined to tear down the celebration, he completely ignored his uncle. He leaned back in his chair, a malicious, ugly smirk stretching across his face as his eyes locked onto Ciara with pure venom.
"You know, Uncle Authur," Julian said, his voice loud enough to cut through the quiet hum of dinner. "We should all commend Alexandier on his efficiency. Finding a bride so quickly to secure grandfather’s inheritance will is impressive. Though, I have to wonder... what are the terms of the marriage contract you two signed? Is it a one-year deal, or does she get a bonus if she lasts longer?"
The entire dining room froze. A collective, shocked gasp echoed through the family. Aunts dropped their forks, and Eleanor’s wine glass rattled loudly against her saucer.
Authur Sterling’s expression darkened instantly into pure ice. He set his cutlery down, his authoritative, piercing gaze shifting directly to his son.
"What nonsense," Authur growled, his voice dropping an octave. "Alexandier. Is this true? Did you sign a marriage contract?"
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