Page 42 of Wicked God
“I admire that about you. The way you’ve dedicated yourself to Tiffany’s well-being. You love her and you’ll do everything in your power to make her life better. It’s inspiring, to be honest.”
Our conversation flows effortlessly from there, touching on childhood memories, hopes, and fears. With each passing moment, I feel myself being drawn closer to her. The way her eyes light up when she laughs, the gentle curve of her neck as she tilts her head in thought—every detail captivates me.
I catch myself stealing glances at her when she’s not looking, only to find her doing the same. Each time our eyes meet, a spark of electricity seems to pass between us. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember that this is all supposed to be an act.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, jolting me back to reality. The warm, intimate atmosphere of the café with Olivia fades away, replaced by the sleek, impersonal décor of my office building. I step out, straightening my tie and smoothing down my suit jacket—a habit born from years of living under my father’s scrutiny.
Jackson, my ever-efficient assistant, rushes towards me, his face a mixture of concern and urgency.
As I approach my office, Jackson, my assistant, hurries towards me. His usually calm demeanor is tinged with nervous energy.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “Your father is waiting for you in your office.”
My stomach tightens. “How long has he been here?”
“About twenty minutes, sir.”
I nod, forcing a neutral expression. “Thank you, Jackson. Any idea what this is about?”
Jackson shakes his head. “He didn’t say, sir. But he seems... agitated.”
I nod, steeling myself. “Right. I’ll handle it.”
When I get to my office door, I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I push open the door, and there he is—Senator Richard Hawthorne, standing by the window, his imposing figure silhouetted against the Empire Heights skyline. He turns as I enter, his steely gaze locking onto mine.
“Alexander,” he says, turning to face me. His voice is as cold and unyielding as ever.
I meet his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. “Father. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, instead studying me with those piercing eyes that have intimidated countless political opponents. I resist the urge to fidget, maintaining eye contact. “I was informed you took the morning off. That’s rather unusual for you, isn’t it?”
What does he know? Has he caught wind of my plan with Olivia?
My heart rate quickens, but I keep my face impassive. I can’t let him know about Olivia, not yet. Instead, I deflect, “I had some personal matters to attend to. But more importantly, do you have any news about Lauren? Has she been re-enrolled in her course?”
For a moment, I think he might press the issue, but then his expression shifts. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. My breath catches in my throat.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he says, his tone measured. “Lauren has been reinstated in her program. And do you know why?”
I remain silent, my eyes fixed on the box in his hand.
“Because you, Alexander, are going to do what’s needed for this family.” He places the box on my desk with a soft thud. “I’ve found you a suitable match—Tiffany Carter. You’ll be meeting her next week.”
So he was waiting as long as he could to blindside me. I struggle to keep my expression neutral as anger and resentment flood my veins.
One time was not enough for my father.
“Father—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“This isn’t up for discussion, Alexander. The Carters are a powerful family, and this alliance will secure our position for generations to come.” My father’s voice is sharp and unyielding. “Don’t disappoint me, Alexander. Fulfill your duty to thisfamily.” His eyes bore into mine. “I expect you to handle this with the grace befitting a Hawthorne.”
Without another word, he turns and strides out of my office; the door closes behind him with a resounding click. The silence that follows is deafening.
I stare at the innocuous velvet box before slowly picking it up.
I flip open the lid, revealing a glittering diamond ring nestled inside. It’s ostentatious, clearly chosen to impress rather than for any sentimental value.
It’s beautiful, undoubtedly expensive, and completely wrong.
