Meadow's POV
Alaric Ashford was handsome in a way that unsettled me.
Not in the polished, practiced way Tyler had been handsome, carefully groomed, predictably charming, safe in the way men are when you know exactly what they want from you. Alaric's beauty carried an edge. Something feral beneath the refinement. Something that made my instincts recoil even as my body leaned in.
He stood so close I could feel the heat radiating from him, see the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His dark hair fell just slightly out of place, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times, and the effect was devastating against the calm authority he wore so effortlessly. A contradiction. Control wrapped around chaos.
His eyes were dark, so dark I couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began in the low light. They held me in place, stripping, assessing, knowing. Not just looking at me, but through me, like he already owned the parts of me I was still pretending to protect.
I pressed harder into the wall behind me, the cold seeping through my clothes and into my spine, grounding me just enough to remember how to breathe.
"Do I know you?" I asked.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt. The alcohol dulled the sharpest edges of fear but left everything else raw, my nerves, my pulse, my awareness of him.
His lips curved slowly, not into a smile, but something colder. Something knowing. He tilted his head, just a fraction, as if studying how I'd react to the movement.
"Not yet."
The words slid under my skin.
"H-how do you know my name?" I demanded, hating the faint slur I couldn't fully mask.
"I make it a point," he said calmly, "to know what interests me."
My stomach flipped hard enough to make me dizzy.
Interest.
I didn't like the way that word sounded in his voice. Didn't like the way my body responded to it anyway. Heat curled low in my belly, traitorous and humiliating, and I clenched my jaw as if I could force it back down.
Why was I here?
Why hadn't I turned and run the second his name left his mouth?
And worse, why did a part of me feel like he wanted me to see what I'd walked in on earlier? Like it had been deliberate. A test. A warning.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice quieter now, betraying the tremor I couldn't stop.
Alaric didn't answer right away.
His gaze dropped, not rushed, not apologetic, to my chest. Lingered there long enough for my skin to prickle. For my breath to hitch. For embarrassment and anger to collide inside me.
"You're shivering," he observed.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
I didn't know whether it was the cold air, the adrenaline, or the way his eyes tracked every involuntary reaction I failed to hide. Or maybe it was the words stretched across my top, mocking me in bold, unforgiving letters. The bride that couldn't be.
"My eyes are up here, pervert," I snapped.
If that bothered him, he didn't show it. Instead, he lifted his gaze deliberately to meet mine. Held it. Claimed it.
"I've already seen your eyes, Meadow," he said quietly. "They're guarded. Careful. Full of hurt." His voice dipped lower. "I wanted to see the rest of you."
My mouth opened, but no words came. He took a single step closer.
I flattened myself against the wall again, my pulse roaring in my ears. "I've heard about you," I whispered.
"From Tyler Cross," he replied smoothly. "Your fiancé."
The word landed like a slap.
"Ex-fiancé," I bit out. "And how do you know that much about him?"
He stepped back then, giving me space I hadn't realized I was desperate for. My lungs expanded greedily as he reached up and shrugged out of his suit jacket with slow, unhurried movements.
I hated that my eyes followed him.
The black fabric slid from his shoulders, revealing the strong lines of his arms beneath the fitted button-down, the top buttons undone just enough to expose skin that looked warm and solid and very real. The contrast between control and physicality made my head spin.
He tossed the jacket toward me.
"I know everything about my employees," he said, like it explained everything.
I caught it automatically.
The weight surprised me. So did the scent, clean, masculine, faintly smoky. It wrapped around me the second I slipped my arms into it, swallowing me whole.
"Happy?" I demanded, glaring up at him.
The look on his face stole the air from my lungs.
His expression darkened, raw and unfiltered, his gaze dropping to my mouth like he was memorizing it. Like he was imagining things I didn't want to think about, and desperately did all at once.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "I'm not your enemy."
"Are you sure?" I whispered. "Because you're looking at me like you want to ruin me."
He slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped closer again. "If I wanted to hurt you, Meadow," he said softly, "you'd already be hurting."
That should've terrified me.
Instead, warmth spread between my thighs, slow and undeniable, and I pressed my legs together, cursing myself silently.
He turned away, moving toward a table where a bottle of bourbon waited. The moment his back was to me, clarity struck.
Run.
I reached for the door—
"You walk out," he said without turning, "and you ruin the best chance you have at getting back at your unpleasant fiancé."
I froze.
"Ex," I snapped.
"And your sister?" he continued. "Is she your ex-sister now too?"
I spun around so fast my vision blurred.
"How do you know that?" My voice cracked. "Have you been following me?"
"I know everything about my employees," he repeated, lifting his glass to his lips.
Rage surged through me, burning hot and reckless. I stalked back toward him, words tumbling out sharp and unfiltered.
"What is this?" I demanded. "You staring at me like I'm some prize? Sending your bodyguard to fetch me? Calling me by my full name like you own it?"
"You looked like you were drowning," he interrupted quietly. "And I don't like watching people drown."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"That's rich," I scoffed. "Coming from the man who was getting head when I walked in."
His gaze didn't waver. "Unfortunate timing."
"You wanted me to see," I accused. "See you."
My eyes dropped to his mouth before I could stop myself. Alcohol. It had to be the alcohol.
I turned to leave again, but my knees buckled.
I reached for the nearest solid thing to steady myself.
His chest.
The instant my palms met his skin, everything changed.
He went utterly still.
His breath hitched. His jaw tightened. The glass in his hand froze midair.
Slowly, his gaze dropped to where I touched him. Then rose to meet mine.
Whatever control he'd been wielding shattered. His eyes were unguarded now. Dark. Dangerous. Wanting.
I pulled my hand back, but he caught my wrist, guiding it back to his chest, holding it there like a claim.
When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, stripped bare.
"You were right," he said. "I do want to ruin you."