Bound To The Cold Tycoon

3 : The Wedding Night

The city glittered beneath the penthouse windows, skyscrapers stabbing the midnight sky with their neon crowns. From the thirty-seventh floor of the Stone Tower, the world looked small, insignificant—just the way Alexander liked it.

Amelia, however, felt anything but small. She stood stiffly by the door, clutching her gown as though it were armor. Her heart thudded with dread. The suite was magnificent—marble floors, gold fixtures, a king-sized bed draped in silk—but it felt like a prison.

Alexander loosened his tie, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket. His movements were unhurried, precise, like a predator stripping off its disguise.

“You can relax,” he said flatly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bar. “This isn’t that kind of night.”

Her pulse quickened. She hated herself for the relief that washed over her. “Then why drag me here at all? We’ve already played our parts in front of the world.”

He turned, glass in hand, his sharp gaze cutting into her. “Because the act doesn’t end when the lights go off. From this moment forward, you are Mrs. Stone. Every move you make reflects on me, on my empire. If you slip, if you embarrass me, even once—” He took a slow sip, the amber liquid catching the light. “—I will not hesitate to crush you.”

Amelia’s throat tightened. She should have been used to his cruelty by now, but something about the calm way he spoke was worse than shouting.

“You think you can scare me into obedience?” she shot back, her voice shaking despite her bravado. “I may have agreed to this marriage, but don’t mistake me for one of your corporate puppets.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Brave words. Let’s see how long they last.”

He set his glass down, closing the distance between them in a few strides. Amelia instinctively stepped back, her back pressing against the door. His scent—crisp, expensive, intoxicating—wrapped around her like invisible chains.

He leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. “You can hate me, Amelia. In fact, I prefer it. But you will play your role. Perfectly. Smile when I say smile. Stand when I say stand. And when the vultures come circling…” His eyes glinted, cold and merciless. “You’ll fight them off as though your life depends on it. Because it will.”

Her breath hitched. A shiver ran down her spine, not from fear alone—but from the confusing, treacherous spark his nearness ignited.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’ll play the role, Alexander. But one day, when your perfect little empire cracks, don’t expect me to save you.”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, almost human—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He straightened, his mask of indifference snapping back into place. “The guest room is down the hall. Sleep there. We’ll discuss our public schedule tomorrow.”

Without another word, he walked away, leaving her standing in her wedding gown, her fists clenched, her heart pounding.

Amelia exhaled shakily. She was trapped in his gilded cage—but if Alexander Stone thought she would be a silent prisoner, he was gravely mistaken.