8 : The Tycoon’s Fury
491 Words
The penthouse was dim when Amelia returned, the city lights glittering through the vast windows like a thousand watchful eyes. She set her purse down quietly, hoping to slip away to her room before Alexander noticed her absence.
But he was already waiting.
He stood near the bar, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A glass of whiskey sat untouched in his hand, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.
“Where were you?” His voice was low, too calm—dangerous.
Amelia froze. “Out.”
His eyes narrowed. “Out? With who?”
Her silence was enough. In two strides, he closed the distance, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t play games with me, Amelia. I know you met Clara.”
Her heart skipped, but she lifted her chin. “So what if I did? She asked me to meet. I wanted to hear what she had to say.”
His jaw tightened, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “You think you can walk into a trap like that and come out unscathed? She used you. Every word out of her mouth was meant to destroy you—and by extension, me.”
Amelia bristled. “I don’t need your protection, Alexander. I held my own.”
He leaned in, his voice a sharp whisper. “You’re my wife. Whether you like it or not, everything you do affects me. And if you think I’ll stand by while you waltz into the enemy’s hands, you’re gravely mistaken.”
Something inside her snapped. “Your wife? You keep saying that like it means something, but all it means to you is ownership. You don’t love me, Alexander. You don’t even trust me. So why does it matter if I speak to Clara?”
His eyes burned into hers, an emotion she couldn’t name flashing across his face—anger, yes, but also something darker, deeper.
“Because the thought of her touching what’s mine makes me want to burn the world down,” he said, his voice rough, unguarded.
Amelia’s breath caught. The words hung between them, heavy and raw, breaking through the cold walls he always hid behind.
For a moment, silence swallowed the room. Her pulse raced, her skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
Then, as quickly as it came, the crack in his armor vanished. He straightened, his expression hardening. “This is your first and last warning, Amelia. You don’t meet with Clara again. Ever.”
Her chest tightened, fury and confusion tangling together. She wanted to scream at him, to demand what those words had truly meant—but instead, she swallowed her protest.
“Fine,” she said coldly, turning away. “But don’t think for a second you’ve silenced me.”
Behind her, Alexander’s grip tightened on his glass, the sound of cracking crystal echoing through the room.
- Writer
