The air in the Ray penthouse had always been thick with a certain electricity, but today it was charged with the kind of tension that made the hair on my arms stand up. I stood in the center of the living room, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble. I wasn't here to play a part; I was Mrs. Ray, Alexander’s equal in every sense, and our relationship had always been a firestorm—a genuine, deep-seated friendship that had blossomed into a fierce, stubborn love, even if the marriage certificate had started as an arrangement.
Alexander was pacing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking like a man haunted. He pivoted, his face a map of frustration and raw, exposed vulnerability.
"You didn't have to send that dossier to the press, Ruby," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rum
