The Groom Who Ruined Me

Chapter 5

The Grand Plaza Ballroom was a sea of flashing cameras, diamond jewelry, and clinking champagne flutes. High society had turned out in droves, all eager to catch a glimpse of the city’s newest, most controversial couple.

Clara stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, her hand resting heavily on the balustrade. The stylist Alec hired had done their job with terrifying perfection. She wore a floor-length, backless gown of midnight-blue silk that clung to every curve of her body like a second skin. Her chestnut hair was pinned up in an elegant, intricate twist, leaving her long neck completely bare.

At the bottom of the stairs, Alec stood waiting for her.

The moment his stormy gray eyes locked onto her, Clara saw something she had never seen before: a crack in his armor. Alec completely stopped talking to the board members surrounding him. His gaze swept down the length of her dress, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened with an intense, raw hunger that made Clara’s breath hitch. For a split second, he wasn't a corporate executioner. He was just a man looking at a woman who took his breath away.

But as she reached the bottom step, the mask slipped back over his face. He stepped forward, his large hand sliding firmly around her bare waist, pulling her flush against his side. His touch was burning hot against her skin.

"You look acceptable, Clara," he murmured, his deep baritone sending a treacherous shiver down her spine. "Remember your promise. Smile for the cameras. Play the doting bride."

"I know my cues, Alec," Clara whispered back, forcing a bright, radiant smile for the paparazzi whose lenses were already flashing in their faces. "Just remember that every smile I give you tonight is costing you fifty million dollars."

For the next two hours, Clara played her part to perfection. She smiled, she nodded, and she let Alec lead her across the ballroom floor, his hand never leaving her waist. But underneath the facade, her mind was racing. The folded piece of paper inside her shoe was burning against her sole. She needed to get to a terminal. She needed to test those internal Sinclair server codes.

Her chance finally came when the Chairman of the Board pulled Alec away for a private, urgent conversation regarding a European merger.

"Don't wander off," Alec warned her, his grip lingering on her waist for a second too long before he stepped away. "I’m watching you."

The moment his back was turned, Clara slipped through the crowd, heading toward the back corridors of the venue. The Grand Plaza Ballroom was owned by a subsidiary of Sinclair Enterprises, meaning the building's private VIP lounge on the second floor was directly connected to the main corporate intranet.

She hurried up the back service stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. The corridor was silent, muffled by thick luxury carpeting. She found the door marked Private Lounge—Sinclair Executives Only and pushed it open.

The room was dim, smelling of leather and expensive cigars. In the corner sat a sleek, modern workstation—a terminal connected directly to the Sinclair VIP backend system.

Clara rushed over, kicking off her heels. She pulled the folded paper from her shoe and smoothed it out on the desk. With trembling fingers, she woke the computer screen and brought up the secure network bypass portal.

Log-In: SIN_EXEC_SECURE

Authorization Code: 0994-ALPHA-HASTINGS-WIPE

She typed the sequence exactly as it appeared on the stolen document. Her breath hitched as she hit enter.

A progress bar appeared on the screen. Accessing Restricted Archive: Hastings Logistics Liquidation Files.

It worked. The server codes bypassed the standard firewall. Clara’s eyes widened as columns of data began to populate the screen. She scrolled down desperately, looking for the digital footprint of the person who had authorized the transfer.

Initiated by User: SE_FIN_CHIEF_01

Routing Terminal: CEO Private Suite (Office 01)

Clara gasped, a wave of pure horror washing over her. Office 01 was Alec’s personal office. The terminal that framed her father belonged to the very man she had just married.

"Looking for something, Clara?"

A voice like dry ice cuts through the silence of the room.

Clara violently spun around, her heart leaping entirely into her throat. Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the corridor, was Alec.

He didn't look angry. He looked dangerously calm. He slowly walked into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him with a soft, terrifying click. He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, his stormy eyes fixed on her guilty, pale face, and then drifted down to the glowing computer screen behind her.

"I gave you a simple task today, Clara. You were supposed to log files," Alec said, his voice dropping into a low, predatory whisper as he closed the distance between them. "Instead, you stole a restricted security key, snuck into my private lounge, and hacked into a classified corporate database."

Clara backed up until her hips pressed against the edge of the desk, completely trapped between Alec and the incriminating screen. "You framed him," she breathed, her voice shaking with a volatile mix of tears and fury. "The data says the fifty-million-dollar transfer came from your private office terminal, Alec! My father didn't steal anything. You stole it to destroy us!"

Alec stopped mere inches from her. He leaned down, placing both hands on the desk on either side of her hips, pinning her in place just like he had in the elevator. The scent of woodsmoke and dangerous authority enveloped her entirely.

He didn't deny it. Instead, a dark, complex emotion flashed in his gray eyes. He reached out, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look up into his intense, unyielding gaze.

"You think you’ve solved the puzzle, Clara?" Alec murmured, his thumb brushing against her lower lip, his breathing shallow. "You've only scraped the surface. If you think I’m the only monster in this room, you are deeply mistaken. Now, turn off the computer, put your shoes back on, and walk down those stairs with me."

"And if I don't?" Clara defied, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "If I scream? If I take this data to the press right now?"

Alec’s grip on her chin tightened just enough to anchor her. He leaned in so close his lips almost brushed hers, his gray eyes burning with a sudden, fierce protectiveness that confused her to her core.

"If you walk out that door with that data, the people who actually framed your father will realize you have it," Alec whispered against her lips. "And they won't put you in a golden cage, Clara. They will put you in the ground. Now... are you going to trust your husband, or are you going to let us both burn?"