The cold smile never left his lips. He didn't even bother to raise his voice, letting the sheer force of his presence do the work. "Get out."

Ace Griffith's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the lingering whispers with the clean, sharp edge of a razor.

The reporters froze, their cameras held halfway to their faces.

Ivette's face contorted. "Who do you think you are? You defile my daughter and you dare to be so arrogant?"

She lunged forward, her hand clawing, trying to rip the duvet away from Alexandrea, to expose her completely.

Ace moved faster than she could blink. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Ivette's wrist. The grip was precise and unyielding. A pained gasp escaped Ivette's lips.

"Don't. Touch. Her." Each word was a chip of ice.

Alexandrea stared, her breath hitched in her chest. For the first time in ten years, someone was standing between her and Ivette's rage.

Pain flared up Ivette's arm. She struggled, her face a mixture of shock and fury. "Let go of me! Security! Where is the security?"

A veteran reporter in the back of the crowd suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with recognition. "My God... that's... that's Ace Griffith. From the Griffith Corporation."

The name dropped into the room like a bomb.

A wave of stunned silence washed over the crowd. Griffith. As in, the Griffiths. The family that owned half of Manhattan and had more quiet power than royalty.

Ivette's face went from flushed red to a sickly, waxy white. She had schemed and planned, but she never, in her wildest nightmares, imagined the man she'd chosen for her trap would be the heir to the Griffith empire.

Ace released her wrist. Ivette stumbled back, cradling her arm, her eyes filled with a new, raw fear.

He swung his legs off the bed, ignoring his bare chest, and walked to Alexandrea's side. He picked up his suit jacket from the floor, and with a gentle but firm motion, he draped it over her trembling shoulders, enveloping her in its warmth and the faint scent of his cologne. The gesture was so thoroughly protective it made her heart hammer against her ribs.

He turned to face the room, his voice clear and steady. "What happened last night was my fault. I forced myself on Miss Terry."

The room erupted in a collective gasp. Alexandrea's head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Why? Why would he say that? Why would he take the blame?

Ivette was just as stunned. Her plan was to ruin Alexandrea, not to make an enemy of Ace Griffith.

"She did not seduce anyone," Ace continued, his voice unwavering. "She is a victim."

His sharp gaze found Ivette, pinning her in place. "And for a victim, Mrs. Terry, your reaction isn't one of concern. It's... excitement, isn't it?"

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and deadly, slicing through Ivette's carefully constructed facade.

"I... of course I'm concerned!" she stammered, her voice losing its righteous fury. "I was just so angry for her!"

Ace let out a short, cold laugh. He didn't bother to argue with her. Instead, he delivered his final, devastating blow.

"To make amends for my actions, and to take full responsibility for Miss Terry," he paused, letting the silence stretch, his eyes locking with every single person in the room. "I will be marrying her."

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Alexandrea felt as if lightning had just struck her. Her brain simply shut down. Marrying him? This man she'd just met?

The reporters, recovering from their shock, went into a frenzy. The camera flashes were blinding, a frantic, desperate attempt to capture the headline of the century.

Ivette looked like she was about to faint. She had played with fire and brought down an inferno on herself.

Ace turned to the hotel manager, who had appeared at the door, wringing his hands. "Clear the room. I don't want a single photo or a single word of what happened here today getting out."

The manager, recognizing the power he was facing, bowed his head and immediately began herding the stunned reporters out.

Just before the door closed, Ace's gaze locked onto Ivette one last time. "Mrs. Terry. You and I will be having a talk later."

The implied threat was unmistakable. The room was finally cleared, leaving only the three of them in the wreckage of Ivette's failed plot.

---

The heavy suite door clicked shut, sealing them in a sudden, suffocating silence.

Ivette was the first to break it. Her voice was a trembling, fearful wreck of what it had been moments before. "Mr. Griffith, this has to be a misunderstanding! You can't marry her!"

Ace looked at her, his expression flat and cold. "Do I need your permission to do anything?"

Desperation made Ivette reckless. She started spewing venom, her last resort. "She's not worthy of you! She's a manipulative, ungrateful liar! Her reputation is garbage all over New York!"

She whirled on Alexandrea, her face twisted with malice. "You think you can escape me by latching onto him? You're nothing but trash in your bones!"

Alexandrea flinched at every word, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She lowered her head, letting her long hair fall like a curtain, hiding her face.

Ace's gaze grew even colder. "Her reputation?" he cut in, his voice dangerously soft. "The one you so carefully crafted for her?"

Ivette's breath caught in her throat.

"A mother," Ace continued, his words slow and deliberate, like a surgeon's scalpel, "whose first instinct, after her daughter has potentially been assaulted, is not to call the police, not to offer comfort, but to bring reporters to photograph her at her most vulnerable. Are you grieving for her, Mrs. Terry, or are you enjoying the show?"

His words stripped her bare, exposing the ugly truth beneath her maternal act. Ivette was speechless, her face a mask of pale horror.

As he looked at the cowering woman, he felt a surge of protective fury unlike anything he had ever known. The sight of her, so broken and small under the weight of Ivette's cruelty, contrasted so sharply with the viciousness of her accuser. He didn't need to know her story to see the injustice playing out before him. A raw, primal instinct took over, a need to shield this stranger from the monster in front of them.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that no person deserved this kind of torment. The girl trembling under his jacket was a victim, and the woman spitting venom was a predator. It was that simple.

His gaze returned to the present, to the girl with her head bowed, and his expression softened for a fraction of a second.

His resolve hardened into steel. He was going to have this girl. He was going to protect her.

He turned back to Ivette, his voice leaving no room for argument. "From this day forward, Alexandrea is my responsibility. The Terry family will stay out of it."

Ivette opened her mouth, another protest ready, but the words died when she met his eyes. They were completely devoid of emotion, as cold and final as a tomb. She knew that one more word could bring ruin upon her entire family.

She shot Alexandrea one last, hateful glare before turning and fleeing the room like a cornered animal.

Now, they were alone.

The silence in the room was different. It was heavy with unspoken questions.

Alexandrea finally lifted her head. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wary, met his.

"What... what do you really want?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but edged with suspicion.

Ace closed the distance between them. He knelt down, bringing himself to her eye level. The unexpected gesture made her stiffen, unsure how to react.

He looked directly at her, his gray eyes holding hers. "I want exactly what I said," he stated, his voice low and steady. "I'm going to marry you."

It wasn't a proposal. It was a declaration of fact.

---

A humorless laugh, dry and brittle, escaped Alexandrea's lips. "Marry me? Mr. Griffith, are you trying to humiliate me, or yourself?"

She pushed herself to her feet, clutching the heavy suit jacket around her as if it were armor. She needed distance from him, from the intensity of his gaze.

"Everyone in New York knows what kind of woman I am," she said, her tone dripping with a self-loathing that had been drilled into her for a decade. "Marrying me will make you the biggest joke in the city."

Ace rose to his full height, the sheer size of him once again casting a shadow over her. "I don't care what other people say."

"Well, I do," she shot back, shaking her head. "And besides, I can't go with you."

His expression darkened. "Why not?"

Alexandrea's lips parted, then closed. The contract. The image of her brother, Demario, smiling at her from his university photo flashed through her mind. He was her whole world, the only light in the darkness of the Terry household. The contract she'd been forced to sign was an iron chain around her neck, and Demario's future was the lock. If she left with this man, if she broke the terms, Bret Terry would cut off Demario's funding in a heartbeat. He'd be sent home, his dreams shattered. She couldn't do that to him. She would endure anything to protect him.

She had to lie. "I'm a Terry. I have to go home."

The excuse was so weak, so flimsy, that it sounded pathetic even to her own ears. Go home? Back to that house of horrors?

Ace's brow furrowed. He saw the lie in her eyes, the flicker of pain and desperation she tried to hide.

"Alexandrea," he said, taking a step closer, crowding her space. "Look at me. Do you really want to go back there?"

His proximity made her body go rigid. She was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, and under its piercing scrutiny, her fragile composure began to crack.

She bit her lip, hard. "I have to go back," she repeated, her voice stubborn.

Ace saw it then. She wasn't just being difficult. She was trapped by something, something she couldn't or wouldn't talk about. Words were useless here.

He let out a soft sigh, and his tone suddenly softened. "Alright. At least let me drive you."

Alexandrea blinked, surprised by his easy concession. A wave of relief washed over her, and she gave a small, hesitant nod.

She turned away from him to find her clutch purse, her guard momentarily down.

In that split second, as her back was to him, Ace's expression shifted. The softness vanished, replaced by a look of absolute resolve.

He moved with swift, silent precision.

His hand moved with swift, startling precision, a sharp strike to the side of her neck where a nerve cluster lay vulnerable. It was a move designed for incapacitation, not harm.

Alexandrea didn't even have time to cry out. A gasp caught in her throat as the world dissolved into blackness. Her body went limp, slumping forward.

Ace caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms.

He looked down at her unconscious form, her face peaceful in a way it hadn't been while she was awake. A faint, tear-stained track was still visible on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "But I can't let you go back to that place."

He held her securely against his chest and strode towards the door.

He opened it to find his two most trusted men, Giles Oneill and Jett Quinn, waiting silently in the hall. They saw their boss holding an unconscious woman, but their expressions remained perfectly neutral, their professionalism absolute.

"Get the car," Ace commanded. "We're going back to the penthouse."

Just as they were about to move, Ivette appeared at the end of the hall, rushing towards them with the Terry family's butler in tow.

Seeing Alexandrea limp in Ace's arms, she shrieked, "What are you doing? Where are you taking her? This is kidnapping!"

Ace didn't even grant her a glance. He walked past her as if she were nothing more than a piece of furniture, his powerful presence an invisible wall she didn't dare cross.

He spoke one cold, simple command to Giles over his shoulder. "Handle it."

Giles gave a slight nod. He and Jett moved to block Ivette's path, creating a clear exit for their boss.

With an unstoppable, almost regal authority, Ace carried Alexandrea away from the hotel, away from the life that had been her prison for ten long years.

---