They ate slowly after that, conversation flowing easier now. Alexander made sure her plate never emptied, made sure she tried everything they ordered. When she mentioned the burrata was incredible, he immediately signaled the waiter for more. When she reached for the bread basket and it was just out of reach, he passed it to her before she could even ask.
The main courses arrived—homemade pappardelle with wild boar ragù and risotto ai funghi. The pasta was perfectly al dente, the sauce rich and complex with layers of flavor that made her close her eyes on the first bite, savoring it.
"Good?" Alexander asked, watching her with that soft smile, looking pleased just watching her enjoy the food.
"Incredible," she admitted.
He looked even more pleased, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with her enjoyment.
She found herself relaxing despite every warning in her mind. Found herself smiling at his stories about Ravenswood, about the early days building Langford Enterprises, about his friendship with Sebastian that had survived fourteen years and countless disasters.
She liked spending time with him. Liked the way he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Liked the way he made her feel—seen, heard, valued.
It was dangerous. So dangerous.
But God, it felt good.
Dessert arrived—tiramisu, ironically—and she took a bite, the sweet mascarpone melting on her tongue.
Alexander set his wine glass down with deliberate care, his expression shifting to something more focused, more businesslike. His eyes grew serious, intent.
"We need to discuss the timeline," he said.
The shift was so abrupt it took Seraphina a moment to catch up. "Timeline?"
"For the wedding." His storm-blue eyes held hers steadily, intense and unwavering. "Four weeks."
"Four weeks?" She nearly choked, setting down her fork with a clatter. "That's—that's impossible. We can't get married in four weeks. Even the simplest wedding takes months to plan. Venue, catering, guest list, dress—"
"All handled," Alexander interrupted smoothly. "My team has been preparing since this afternoon. We have three venue options, all available on short notice. The dress will be custom, but my designer can have it ready in two weeks with your measurements and preferences. Guest list is straightforward—business contacts, close family, strategic allies. Small and exclusive. Five hundred guests maximum."
Seraphina stared at him, her mouth parting in disbelief. "Five hundred is small?"
"For a Langford wedding? Extremely." A wry smile touched his lips as he took a sip of wine, clearly amused by her reaction. "My PR team wanted two thousand. I negotiated down."
"How generous of you," she said dryly, shooting him an annoyed look that only made his smile widen against the rim of his glass. She stared at him harder, which seemed to please him even more.
But her mind was racing. Four weeks. That was barely enough time to process what she'd agreed to, let alone prepare for a wedding that would be scrutinized by every media outlet in the country.
Four weeks until she became Seraphina Langford. Until there was no backing out.
"Oh god, you're panicking," he said softly, setting down his glass. He reached across the table, both his hands covering hers now—large and warm and steady, completely engulfing her smaller hands. His thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles against her skin, the touch grounding and unexpectedly comforting despite the chaos in her mind. "Breathe, Seraphina."
"I'm not—I'm fine," she said, but her voice was tight, breathless, betraying her.
"You're not fine. Your hands are shaking." His touch was gentle but anchoring, holding her steady. "Listen to me. Four weeks sounds fast, but it's strategic. Every day we wait gives your enemies time to regroup, time to plan. Speed is a weapon."
She wanted to pull away, to think clearly without his touch clouding her judgment. But his hands were so warm, so steady, and she found herself gripping back instead, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world.
"The sooner the world sees you as mine," he continued, voice dropping to something almost possessive, darker, more intense, "the sooner they understand that touching you means going through me. And no one in their right mind goes through the Langfords."
A shiver ran down her spine—part fear, part something she didn't want to name.
The logic was sound. Everything he said made tactical sense. But four weeks felt like being swept into a current she couldn't control.
"Four weeks," she repeated, testing the words on her tongue.
In her previous life, she'd spent two years planning a wedding to Derek that never happened. The irony wasn't lost on her.
He was right. She knew he was right. Evelyn and Victoria wouldn't sit idle. They'd already tried to kill her once—and succeeded, technically. The contract might protect her assets, but it wouldn't protect her life. Not until the world knew she belonged to someone too powerful to cross.
But four weeks! She hardly knew him, hardly trusted him. What if this was just a plan—marry her then kill her, steal her company, take everything while she was vulnerable and bound to him legally? What if the protection was just pretty words? What if he turned into Derek the moment the ring was on her finger? Controlling, manipulating, breaking her down piece by piece until there was nothing left?
The thoughts spiraled, faster and faster, her chest tightening, breath coming shorter.
"Seraphina." Alexander's voice cut through the panic, firm but gentle. He stood in one fluid motion, moving around the table to crouch beside her chair, bringing himself eye level with her. One hand still held hers; the other came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone with devastating tenderness. "Look at me."
She did, meeting those storm-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her.
"I know you're scared," he said quietly, each word deliberate and weighted. "I know you don't trust me yet. I know every instinct you have is screaming that this is a trap." His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there. "But I swear to you—on my mother's memory, on everything I've built—I will never hurt you. Never control you. Never take from you what isn't freely given."
His voice was steady, certain, raw with something that looked almost like desperation.
"The contract protects you. Five billion dollars if I fail you. That's not decoration, Seraphina. That's a promise written in terms even I can't break. I would lose everything before I'd hurt you."
Derek's voice flashed through her mind unbidden—sweet, manipulative, promising forever while he destroyed her from the inside. "I'll take care of you. You'll never have to worry about anything."
"You'll be my wife," Alexander continued, his thumb still tracing that maddening pattern on her cheek, "and that means you'll be protected by every resource I have. My security. My lawyers. My name. My family's power. Everything."
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him so badly it physically hurt.
"It will be alright," he said, softer now, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I know you can't trust that yet. But I'll prove it. Every day, I'll prove it."
She nodded slowly, uncertainty still clawing at her chest like a living thing.
But the contract was foolproof. She'd read every line, had lawyers dissect every clause. She was hyperaware of everything—every exit, every protection, every weapon she had if this went wrong.
And despite everything, despite the fear and the doubt and the voice screaming that she was making a mistake—
"I choose the dress designer," she said suddenly, her voice firm as she gathered herself together, straightening her spine. "What kind of bride lets someone else choose her wedding dress?"
Alexander's expression shifted to relief, then satisfaction. "We could go shopping together next week."
"You will go as well?" She raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across her face as she imagined it—Alexander Langford in his perfectly tailored business suit, sitting stiffly in some frilly bridal boutique surrounded by lace and tulle and overeager saleswomen with champagne and opinions. The image was so absurd, so completely out of place, that a snort of laughter escaped her before she could stop it.
His eyebrows drew together, displeasure flickering across his features. "You could go alone if you want to."
"No, I want you to be there," she said quickly, grin widening. She absolutely wanted to see him in that scene, wanted to watch the unflappable Alexander Langford navigate wedding dress appointments and fabric swatches. "I insist, actually."
He looked suspicious of her enthusiasm but nodded. "Fine. But there's more we need to discuss."
"More?" She wasn't sure she could handle more right now.
"We'll need to do a photoshoot tomorrow," he said, his businesslike tone returning. "For the engagement announcement. Professional photos for the press release. My team has already scheduled it for two PM."
"Tomorrow?" Her voice came out slightly strangled.
"The sooner we control the narrative, the better." He studied her face carefully. "And we need to meet my grandfather in three days. Friday evening. Dinner at the Langford estate."
Seraphina's stomach dropped. "Your grandfather."
"He'll want to meet you before the wedding is announced publicly." Alexander's expression grew more serious. "He's... exacting. But if you can handle contract negotiations with five lawyers, you can handle him."
She wasn't sure that was true, but she nodded anyway.
They left Terrazza through the private exit, Alexander's hand finding the small of her back once again as they walked down the narrow hallway toward where Marcus had the car waiting.
The moment they pushed through the door to the alley, chaos erupted.
Flashbulbs exploded like lightning, blinding and disorienting. A wall of paparazzi surged forward—at least twenty of them, maybe more—shouting questions, shoving cameras and phones in their faces, blocking their path to the car.
"Seraphina! Are the engagement rumors true?"
"Mr. Langford, how long have you been dating?"
"Is this a business arrangement?"
"Seraphina, what about Derek King?"
They came at them from both sides, a coordinated ambush that felt too organized, too perfectly timed. Someone had leaked their location. Someone had wanted this.
Alexander's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His hand tightened on her back, pulling her against his side as his other arm came up to shield her face from the cameras. His body became a barrier between her and the surging crowd, broad shoulders blocking the worst of the flashes.
"Back off," he said, voice cold and commanding, but they didn't listen.
A camera shoved too close. Seraphina stumbled, her heel catching on the uneven pavement. Alexander caught her instantly, his arm wrapping fully around her waist, holding her upright as he physically pushed forward through the crowd.
"Mr. Langford, is it true you're only marrying her to secure your inheritance?"
"Seraphina, your company is failing—are you using him?"
"Did you cheat on Derek King with Alexander?"
The questions grew more aggressive, more personal, more vicious. Someone grabbed at Seraphina's arm. She gasped, jerking back, and Alexander's free hand shot out, shoving the photographer hard enough to send him stumbling backward into his colleagues.
"Touch her again and I'll have you arrested," Alexander snarled, something dangerous and protective blazing in his eyes that Seraphina had never seen before.
Marcus appeared like magic, his security training evident in the way he moved—efficient, controlled, creating a path through the crowd with his body while another guard materialized to cover their retreat. Together, they formed a protective barrier that finally got them to the car.
Alexander practically lifted Seraphina into the backseat, following immediately after, his body still angled to shield her as Marcus slammed the door and the car lurched into motion.
Seraphina's hands were shaking. Her heart pounded wildly, adrenaline making her feel sick.
"How did they know?" she whispered. "We used the private entrance. The reservation was under your name, not—"
"Someone told them," Alexander said flatly, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger. He pulled out his phone, already typing furiously. "Someone leaked our location. Timing. Everything."
His hand found hers in the darkness, squeezing once—firm, reassuring, grounding.
"This is what I meant," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light from passing streetlamps. "They're watching. Waiting. Looking for any opportunity to twist the narrative, to hurt you, to make you vulnerable."
Seraphina nodded slowly, the reality of her situation sinking in deeper.
She wasn't just marrying into protection.
She was marrying into a war.