CHAPTER 10
Langford Tower rose from the heart of Athena City like a blade of glass and steel, sharp enough to slice the sky itself.
Seraphina stepped out of the black town car alone. The late-afternoon sun fractured against the mirrored facade, throwing jagged shards of light across the pavement. She tilted her head back, letting her gaze climb the impossible height of the building.
She smoothed the front of her midnight-black blazer one last time, squared her shoulders, and walked inside.
The lobby swallowed her in quiet luxury: polished obsidian floors veined with gold, walls of dark walnut and matte black steel, softened only by discreet ribbons of warm ambient light. The air carried cedar, fine leather, and the faintest trace of expensive smoke. Every detail felt deliberate, expensive, and slightly dangerous.
A single receptionist—tall, immaculate, expressionless—looked up from her screen.
"Miss Hale." The pause was brief but deliberate. "Mr. Langford is expecting you."
She was escorted to the private elevator. The doors closed without sound. The ascent was smooth, silent, predatory. When they parted again, she stepped directly onto the penthouse level.
The corridor stretched long and gleaming, one entire wall floor-to-ceiling glass. Athena City glittered below like a conquered kingdom—half the skyline already belonged to the Langfords.
At the end of the corridor, the double doors to Alexander's office slid open without being touched.
The room was a study in perfect, ruthless contrast: rich ebony wood panels drinking the light, buttery dark leather furniture, accents of blackened steel. A massive wall of glass framed the dying sun over the city. The desk was a single monolithic slab of blackened steel, bare except for a matte monitor and a crystal decanter that caught fire in the late light.
The air smelled of cedar, leather, and smoked sandalwood.
Seraphina stood in the center of the room, alone, heart suddenly loud in her ears, eyes searching for his tall frame.
"Miss Hale, please have a seat. Mr. Langford will join you soon."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She crossed to the low leather couch that faced the endless view and sat—slowly, carefully—as though any sudden movement might shatter the spell of the place. Her fingers curled into the soft hide. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again. The city sprawled beneath her, glittering, indifferent, and so very busy.
Her heart beat so hard that it felt like punches inside her sternum. She placed a hand on it trying to calm down. She hadn't expected to be this nervous.
She had walked into boardrooms full of men twice her age and made them flinch with nothing but a spreadsheet and a stare. She had lived through her own murder in a previous life and come back swinging in full Tarzan force.
Yet here she was, pulse punching at the base of her throat, skin prickling with electric anticipation, waiting for him, like a twelve-year-old waited to catch a glimpse of her crush.
How his thumb had caressed across her cheek in the previous night. How softly he had whispered those words. She agreed with him—Derek was never the man for her.
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.
The doors opened again. The air shifted—deepening, thickening with cedar and wood—as he walked in. The world seemed to shift around him, catering to him as if God had decided that this man was worthy of his natural spotlight. Things seemed brighter, the air more alert and the world more quiet to hear him speak.
He was wearing a perfectly white shirt so white there was no way it was worn before that, the collar open just enough to reveal the strong column of his throat and the faint sprinkle of dark hair on his chest, which made her breath catch. God forbid men who shaved. He wore a dark coat on the top to add a more formal look. His dark hair remained perfectly styled. His storm-blue eyes found her immediately, locking on with the same quiet, possessive intensity that had stolen her breath at the bar.
"Seraphina." His voice rolled over her name like dark velvet. "Thank you for waiting."
He crossed the room in long, unhurried strides, closing the distance until she could feel the heat radiating from him, could breathe in again that intoxicating blend of fresh pine and smoked wood that she could never forget. He extended his large hand to shake.
A wave of electricity surged through her as his warm, rough hand closed around her smaller one. His palm was calloused, which was surprising for a man surrounded by luxury in every way. But Seraphina knew he hadn't always been the polished heir. He had been an illegitimate child with a maid for the majority of his life.
Alexander finally took his seat opposite her, lowering himself into the sleek black leather chair with the unhurried grace of a man who owned every inch of the room—and knew it. His posture was confident, almost casual: one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, hands resting lightly on the armrests, fingers steepled in quiet authority. His storm-blue gaze never once left her face, steady, piercing.
"I heard you rejected Golden Enterprises."
So the word had spread. Of course it would. If there was something that spread faster than the flu, it was possible gossip in Athena. Here the neighbors knew before you, that you were three months pregnant.
"Yes, I did."
Alexander tilted his head, the blue of eyes sharpening with the faintest flicker of curiosity.
"Most people in your position would have signed without a second thought. Three hundred million is a parachute when the ground is rushing up."
Everyone in her position would agree, just like her. She was just a few days away from getting thrown out of her company, and she had no idea what she would do.
"It wasn't a parachute." Her voice was quiet, a smile on her face. "It was a trapdoor. One that would have dropped me straight into someone else's hands."
He leaned forward slightly, a sly smile touching the corner of his mouth. The hairs on his chest just a bit more visible.
"You saw through the veil," he said, smirking.
"Of course, I saw through the veil." She lifted the crystal glass of wine from the side table, taking a slow sip before continuing. "Golden Enterprises isn't an investor. It's a Trojan horse. And the people behind it wanted more than equity—they wanted leverage. Control. My company dismantled piece by piece until nothing was left but a shell they could rebrand and sell off."
A shudder passed through her. How could she be so stupid? She shook her head subconsciously, flustered over her ignorance and naivety. How deluded and irrational had her mind been in that pressure that she couldn't take a decision correctly?
"I am never giving my company to them."
Alexander watched her, expression unreadable now except for the slow, deliberate way his gaze traced her face—as if he were memorizing every line of defiance.
"Your stocks are below fifty percent," he said, voice low like he was reading a morning newspaper to his dog. "The bleed is accelerating. You have maybe three months of runway if you cut everything to the bone—marketing, new collections, even the ethical suppliers you're so proud of. After that, the board will force a fire sale, or worse, a hostile takeover. And we both know who's circling the carcass."
Seraphina's jaw tightened. She was not an idiot. Of course, she knew that the situation of her company was bad. She didn't need him telling her that, but she kept her mouth shut and didn't look away.
He leaned forward slightly again.
"You'd need complicated maneuvers to stay afloat—bridge loans from questionable lenders, asset stripping you swore you'd never do, or begging for mercy from the very people who engineered this mess. None of it works long-term. You're too smart for short-term bandaids."
The pang of realization cut through her again. Why did he have to do that? Remind her that there weren't many possible ways out of this mess. The sickening feeling of knowing everything was wrong intensified, but at the moment she couldn't do anything but try desperately to pretend otherwise.
She had run those numbers for days—every night, every few hours the same spiral, the same dread. She wished that a miracle happened, that something changed. But there was nothing. She ended up whispering to herself that all was well, that she could fix it, that she was still in control. But the truth was a blade she couldn't ignore forever. Every scenario ended the same way: dilution, loss of control, eventual erasure.
Once again she repeated the mantra that had lived in her head for days: Everything will be alright. She wouldn't show him her weakness. No matter how handsome this devil was, no matter how great of a deal he offered, he was still the devil.
Seraphina leaned back, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, a faint, dangerous smile curving her lips.
"Tell me something I don't know, Mr. Langford," she said, voice velvet-soft but laced with acid, intentionally using his surname. "Or are you just here to recite my quarterly report back to me?"
A frown flickered across his face, a subtle shift in his shoulders betraying brief discomfort. That was a first—him being the uncomfortable one. Without a word, he reached into the slim drawer of the side table beside his chair and withdrew a thin black file. He placed it on the low glass table between them and slid it toward her.
Seraphina didn't touch it immediately. She held his gaze.
"Open it," he said quietly.
She did.
The file was a timeline—dates, transfers, emails, shell company registrations. All pointing to sabotage: delayed shipments, leaked designs, coordinated negative press, manipulated supplier contracts. The fingerprints were faint —her mother's signature on several shell entities, her sister's private email on encrypted threads coordinating the leaks. Golden Enterprises appeared repeatedly, the money trail looping back to familiar family accounts.
Seraphina's fingers tightened on the edges of the file. Fuck, how did he know? If he knew that, why didn't she have the brain to figure it out in her past life? What had been wrong with her?
"They were planning to kill you once you signed the Golden Enterprises contract," Alexander said, voice low and steady. "A staged car accident on the way home, followed by a suicide to tie it up neatly."
A shudder passed through her. Her eyes widened—partly from the horrid memory she had tried so hard to suppress, partly from the shock of hearing the entire story laid bare from his mouth.
She stared at him, eyes wide. How did he know? Did he have detectives? Private surveillance? This was not the sweet senior from college, the one who would shy away from girls, who would blush at the slightest compliment. No, this was a changed man—a man who knew how to control things, how to see things others couldn't. Knew how to mould things and get whatever, whoever he wanted too.
She forced herself to breathe, not quite sure if she was scared, fascinated, or impressed...
"How do you know?" she whispered.
He remained silent for a long moment, not answering her question, his gaze steady and unreadable.
Then he spoke again, voice calm and deliberate.
"I could have an offer, Seraphina." He leaned forward slightly. "I inject three hundred million. Debt financing, convertible note structure, terms that don't strangle you. No board seats. No veto rights. You keep operational control. Hale Lumina stays yours. The Langford name goes on every press release, every contract, every whisper in the market. The boycott dies overnight. Retailers crawl back. The narrative flips in your favor."
The good old deal, but this time she wouldn't be naïve.
"And what will you get from it?" she leaned forward.
"In return..."
The silence stretched, deliberate, heavy.
"...you marry me."