My Dream, My Nightmare, My Revenge.

Chapter 4

The rain refused to come to an end. Jayden stared out at the blurry street, his own reflection a ghost in the glass. The quiet in the Bentley was usually a comfort, but now it felt heavy.

His mind kept replaying it: the raw panic on her face as she’d fled her apartment. He had given the order to push the demolition up, a strategic move to create urgency. A chess piece moved on a board. So why did he feel like he had kicked a stray puppy?

It was the leverage. That was all, he told himself. Her desperation was the point. But the image wouldn’t shake; her shoulder shoving that stubborn door, the sheer, undignified fight in her.

His phone lit up with a message from Marcus, his personal assistant.

Tailed the foreman and he’s clean. No secondary surveillance. The leak isn’t from her end.

Jayden let out a slow breath. This was bad. Someone on his payroll was already whispering in Isabella's ear. The controlled game he had planned was already compromised. Alexandra wasn’t just an asset anymore; she was a liability standing in the crossfire of a war she knew nothing about, a war that had begun within 24 hours of their meeting. A strange, protective urge, sharp and unwelcome, twisted in his gut. He had to get to her first.

"Liam," he said, his voice tighter than he intended. "She’s going to her gallery. It's on the next block. Go there now."

"Sir, your next appointment…"

"Cancel it." The words came out before he could think. The words were out, harsh and strange. He never disrupted his schedule. Liam didn’t comment; he just executed a smooth U-turn, tailing her slowly.

When they pulled up, the rain was still intense, but there she was. Running and soaked, her breath creating visible white puffs in the cold evening air. She looked… small. And utterly determined. It was the same furious spark he had seen when she had thrown the coffee. It was somehow more potent out here in her element, surrounded by the crumbling evidence of her dream.

He didn’t even think. He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. The cold water soaked through his coat immediately. He leaned against the wet car and waited for her to notice him.

She finally looked up and saw him. Shock washed over her face, followed quickly by hot, clear anger. He understood anger. He could work with anger.

He pushed off the car and walked toward her, closing the distance between them. He stopped just a foot away, water dripping from his hair.

"You," she breathed, her voice trembling with cold and fury. "Was this your idea of a joke? Send a guy to scare me half to death?"

"The demolition was moved up. It was my doing," he said. It was almost the truth. "But the leak wasn't. Don't worry about your belongings, they’ve been safely evacuated."

"Leak? What leak?"

"Someone in my company already told my ex about you. About us." He watched the confusion and fresh fear dawn in her eyes. "This isn’t a game anymore, Alexandra. The moment you signed that preliminary contract, you stepped into the ring."

Her composure faltered. He saw the reality of it hit her, the danger he had dragged her into. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Without thinking, he took off his soaked overcoat and wrapped it over her shoulders. It was ridiculously large on her, swallowing her whole.

She stared up at him, stunned into silence, her anger momentarily neutralized by the simple, unexpected act.

"The deal," he said, his voice softer now. "It’s not just pretending anymore. I need you to be convincing. Starting now."

"Now? How?"

"We’re finalizing it. Here." He reached into his inner jacket pocket, miraculously dry, and pulled out a single, elegant pen. "Your copy of the original contract is inside the car. We sign it now, and we leave in two days for a head start. No more waiting."

He saw the war in her eyes, the terror, the need, the stubborn pride. She looked from the pen to his face, searching for the trick.

"What's with the coat?" she asked suddenly.

The question caught him off guard. He looked down at her. Her lips were slightly blue from the cold. A single drop of rain traced a path down her cheek. He had the inexplicable urge to brush it away.

“Well, you're shivering,” he said, the words coming out rougher than he meant. “It’s a practical decision. I need you to be functional.”

He led her to his car. The rain had almost stopped, leaving a damp, cool and heavy silence in its wake.

“The deal, Alexandra. Your gallery for my revenge. Do we have an agreement?”

She looked at the pen, then back at his face. For a heartbeat, he wasn’t sure if she would take it or throw it in his face.

Her cold fingers brushed his as she took the pen. The contact lasted only a second, but he felt how small her hand was.

"My family for your ex," she corrected, sliding into the car.

He followed, shutting out the world. "She doesn't know your name yet." He watched her sign, the pen moving with quick, sure strokes. "We keep it that way."

"Done." She handed the contract back. "But two days? I thought we had a week."

"Plans changed." He hit the partition button, sealing them in silence. "I think it's better this way."

She pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders. "Just acting, right? No real feelings."

"None," he said, but his voice softened. He studied the careful way she held herself, like something fragile. "Alexandra… Your family, what did they really do to you?"

Her face changed completely. The mask slipped away, and for one raw moment, he saw the hurt in her eyes, deep, old, and still bleeding.

She opened her mouth to answer, but his private phone buzzed, lighting up the dim car.

Isabella Reyes.

Alexandra’s breath caught. He watched her eyes widen, watched her pull back as if struck.

The phone kept vibrating. Once. Twice.

He didn’t move.

The woman who had destroyed him was calling. The woman who might save him was watching, her eyes wide with a fear that was suddenly, terrifyingly real.