Alaia shoved the phone back into the actress's chest. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. To everyone watching, she looked like a woman whose entire world had just collapsed.

Suddenly, the side doors of the banquet hall were violently thrown open.

Austen stormed into the room. His hair was a mess, his tie hung loose around his neck, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He looked feral.

His wild eyes scanned the room and instantly locked onto Alaia standing in the center of the crowd. A flash of panic and pure rage crossed his face. He marched toward her, his heavy footsteps echoing over the whispers.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Camera flashes erupted from the dark corners of the room as hidden paparazzi documented the meltdown.

Austen reached Alaia and grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug into her delicate skin with bruising force, feeling like a steel vice trying to snap her bones. He yanked her forward, trying to drag her away from the audience.

Alaia let out a sharp gasp of pain, her brow furrowing. She let her body stumble weakly against his pull, playing the fragile victim perfectly.

"Did you do this?" Austen hissed in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Did you set me up, you crazy bitch?"

Evelyn jogged into the hall right behind him. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked like a terrified deer, desperately trying to garner sympathy from the staring elites.

Austen dragged Alaia out through the side doors and onto a secluded, private balcony. He slammed the heavy glass door shut behind them, cutting off the noise and the prying eyes of the banquet hall.

He shoved Alaia backward. Her lower back slammed hard against the cold marble balustrade. A sharp, piercing pain shot up her spine.

Alaia dropped her hands from her face. The tears were gone. She lifted her chin and stared at the man who had ordered her heart cut out in her past life. Her eyes were as cold and dead as a graveyard.

Austen froze for a fraction of a second, unsettled by the sheer emptiness in her gaze. But his panic quickly morphed back into rage.

"Who did you hire to film that?" he roared, stepping into her space.

Evelyn rushed forward, grabbing Alaia's arm. "Alaia, please," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We're in love. Please, you have to tell the press it's a misunderstanding."

Alaia looked down at Evelyn's tear-stained, hypocritical face. The memory of her chest being sliced open flared in her mind. Her blood boiled.

She didn't say a word. She just raised her right hand.

Smack.

The sound cracked like a whip in the night air. Alaia put her entire body weight into the slap, striking Evelyn across the left cheek. The force threw Evelyn's head to the side.

Evelyn let out a high-pitched scream and stumbled back, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek. She stared at Alaia in pure shock, a flash of genuine malice breaking through her innocent facade.

Austen's eyes bulged. "You bitch!" he bellowed. He shielded Evelyn with his body, pulled his arm back, and aimed a closed fist straight at Alaia's face.

Alaia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She stared right at his incoming fist, already calculating how much she could sue him for the assault.

The fist was one inch from her nose.

Suddenly, a large, masculine hand shot out from the shadows. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around Austen's wrist, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. The glint of a Patek Philippe watch caught the moonlight.

Austen grunted, trying to pull his arm back, but the grip was like iron. He couldn't move an inch. He snapped his head around, ready to curse out whoever was interfering.

His eyes met a pair of deep, icy blue eyes.

The man stepping out of the shadows wore a perfectly tailored, bespoke black suit. His aura was suffocating, radiating a terrifying, predatory coldness. It was Gabriel Alvarado, the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street.

The air on the balcony instantly froze. Austen's aggressive posture crumbled the second he recognized the man holding his wrist.

"M-Mr. Alvarado," Austen stuttered, the color draining from his face.

Gabriel looked at Austen's wrist with utter disgust. He released his grip, shoving Austen's arm away as if he were discarding a piece of trash. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers.

Alaia leaned against the marble railing. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the Wall Street titan. She had only ever seen him in financial magazines in her past life.

Gabriel didn't even look at Austen. His piercing gaze dropped to Evelyn, who was still cowering on the floor, holding her cheek.

Evelyn was trembling violently. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She forgot to cry, looking up at Austen in sheer panic.

Gabriel's lips parted. His voice was low, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Well," Gabriel said, the word slicing through the tension. "If it isn't my shameless fiancée."

The words hit the balcony like a bomb. Austen's jaw dropped. He whipped his head toward Evelyn, his eyes wide with absolute betrayal. He clearly had no idea.

Alaia's eyes widened slightly. Evelyn had hidden her tracks perfectly in the past life. Alaia had never known Evelyn was engaged to the Alvarado empire.

Gabriel finally turned his head. His icy blue eyes locked onto Alaia. For a split second, a flicker of dark amusement and intense calculation flashed in his gaze.

Gabriel pulled his gaze away from Alaia and looked back down at Evelyn. The mockery in his eyes was absolute.

"Your family begged for a capital injection from the Alvarado Group," Gabriel stated, his voice a slow, lethal drawl. "They offered you up like cheap takeout to secure the deal. And this is how you repay the investment?"

Evelyn's face turned the color of ash. She had spent months convincing Austen she was the heir to a pristine, old-money dynasty. Gabriel had just ripped her clothes off in public, exposing her as a desperate pawn.

Austen stumbled backward, putting distance between himself and Evelyn. He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You... you lied to me?" His face contorted with a mix of humiliation and rage.

Evelyn scrambled forward on her knees, reaching for Austen's pant leg. "Austen, no, let me explain-"

Austen kicked his leg out, violently shaking her off. "Get off me!" he spat. Evelyn fell hard onto the floor, one of her designer heels snapping off in the struggle.

Gabriel stood with his hands casually shoved into his suit pockets. He watched the two of them tear each other apart with the detached amusement of a man watching monkeys in a cage. A cruel smirk played on his lips.

Alaia watched Gabriel. She saw the dark entertainment in his eyes. Her mind raced. He wasn't just here to break off an engagement; he was here to watch the Montgomery family burn. He was the perfect weapon.

She stood up straight, intentionally sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. She reached around and pressed her hand against her lower back, right where Austen had slammed her into the marble.

Her voice cut through the pathetic sobbing on the floor. It was cold and sharp.

"Austen," Alaia said, staring dead into his eyes. "That was assault."

Austen snapped his head toward her, his chest heaving. Habit took over. He opened his mouth to scream at her, to force her into submission like he always did.

Alaia didn't back down. She took a step toward him. "There are fifty reporters right outside those doors. If I walk out there right now and call the police for a medical exam, you won't just be a cheater. You'll be a domestic abuser."

Austen's face went from pale to a sickly green. His public image was his entire life. The threat hit him right in the jugular.

Gabriel raised a single, dark eyebrow. He looked at Alaia, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his cold eyes. He liked her bloodless, transactional approach. No screaming. No tears. Just leverage.

Alaia turned her head and met Gabriel's gaze. Her tone shifted, becoming the calm, measured voice of a negotiator.

"Mr. Alvarado," Alaia said softly. "Do you mind if I collect a personal debt first?"

Gabriel didn't say a word. He simply took one step to the side, clearing her path to Austen. His silence was a heavy, undeniable permission. It was an indulgence.

Alaia turned back to Austen. "You hurt my back. You're going to pay for it with your own body."

Austen let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. "You're insane! I'll blackball you in this industry! You'll never work again!"

Alaia smirked. She pointed a manicured finger at Evelyn, who was weeping on the floor. "If you don't satisfy my terms right now, I will walk out there and tell the press that your little true love is a corporate bargaining chip for the Alvarado Group."

Evelyn shrieked. "No! Austen, please!" She wrapped her arms around Austen's calves, sobbing hysterically.

Austen looked down at the crying woman, then up at Gabriel, who was watching him with dead eyes. Austen knew if he didn't submit, these two would bury him alive.

Every muscle in Austen's body shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together. "Fine," he growled. "Do it."

Alaia looked at his pathetic, trembling form. The hatred in her chest demanded blood, but she didn't want to break her own hand on his face.

She looked down at her expensive silk gown and her stiletto heels. She frowned slightly. Hitting him herself would be messy.

She turned her head. Her eyes landed on Gabriel's large, powerful hands. A reckless, brilliant idea formed in her mind.

She walked right up to Gabriel. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"Would you do it for me?" she whispered.

Gabriel stared down at the audacious woman in front of him. A dangerous, thrilling light flared in his blue eyes. No one had ever dared to use him as a weapon before.

Alaia held his gaze. She didn't flinch. Her eyes sent a clear message: Help me, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The air between them went dead silent for three agonizing seconds.

Then, Gabriel let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound was deep and magnetic, vibrating straight through Alaia's chest.

He slowly reached up and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He slid it off his broad shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto a nearby wicker chair.

Gabriel rolled up the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing thick, corded forearms. He turned and took a slow, deliberate step toward Austen.

Gabriel stopped right in front of Austen. His towering frame cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over the actor. Austen's knees buckled slightly, his legs trembling under the sheer weight of Gabriel's presence.

Gabriel didn't waste a single word. He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist forward.

The punch cut through the air with a vicious swoosh. His knuckles connected dead center with Austen's stomach.

A sickening, hollow thud echoed across the balcony. Austen let out a strangled, agonizing grunt. His eyes bulged out of his head, and his body folded in half like a snapped twig.

The sheer force of the blow lifted Austen off his feet for a fraction of a second before he stumbled backward. He collapsed onto the hard marble floor, clutching his stomach, his mouth wide open as he violently dry-heaved.

Evelyn screamed, scrambling backward until her back hit the glass doors. She curled into a tight ball, terrified that Gabriel was going to hit her next.

Gabriel's face remained entirely blank. He didn't even look at Austen writhing on the ground. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh silk handkerchief, and meticulously wiped his knuckles. He rubbed the fabric over his skin as if he had just touched a disease.

When he was done, he dropped the expensive silk directly onto Austen's sweating face. The disrespect was absolute.

Alaia stared down at Austen. Seeing him broken on the floor offered a tiny fraction of relief to the burning hatred in her chest, but it wasn't nearly enough.

She walked over and stood over him. She looked down, her voice terrifyingly calm and steady.

"That was just the interest," Alaia said softly.

She pointed a finger at Austen, then shifted it to Evelyn. "I swear to God, I will strip you both of everything. Your reputations, your money, your careers. You will have nothing left, and you will never recover."

Austen groaned, unable to speak. He glared up at her, his eyes filled with toxic venom. Evelyn just kept shivering in the corner.

Alaia had said what she needed to say. She turned her back on them.

A sudden gust of autumn wind swept across the balcony. The thin silk of her red dress offered no protection against the chill. Alaia's shoulders involuntarily shivered.

Suddenly, a heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders. The rich, masculine scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne wrapped around her senses.

Alaia gasped and turned her head. Gabriel had picked up his suit jacket and draped it over her.

The fabric still held the heat of his body. The oversized jacket swallowed her frame, wrapping her in an aggressively dominant, yet completely secure, cocoon.

Gabriel didn't look at her. He casually adjusted his pristine cuffs.

"There are cameras out there," Gabriel said, his voice flat and commanding. "Don't walk out looking like a discarded victim."

Alaia froze for a second. Then, a genuine, sharp smile touched her lips. She reached up and pulled the lapels of the heavy jacket tighter around her chest.

She didn't say thank you. She just gave him a single, respectful nod. She turned and walked toward the glass doors, her heels clicking with absolute authority.

She pushed the doors open. The banquet hall was still packed. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward her. But this time, there were no smirks. No pity.

When they saw who was walking mere inches behind her, the chaotic whispers instantly morphed into collective gasps of pure shock. It wasn't just that the heavy, oversized suit jacket draped over her shoulders was clearly a man's-it was that Gabriel Alvarado himself was acting as her silent, invincible shield. His terrifying, predatory aura cleared the path before them, and no one needed to guess whose bespoke jacket she was wearing. The ownership was undeniable. Alaia walked through the crowd like a queen inspecting her territory. She ignored the stares, keeping her chin high as she marched straight toward the hotel exit.

Gabriel walked a few paces behind her. He moved with a slow, predatory grace, acting as her silent, invincible shield. The crowd instinctively parted, terrified of getting too close to him.

Alaia pushed through the hotel's front doors. The crisp Los Angeles night air hit her face.

The driveway was a war zone. Dozens of paparazzi had swarmed the entrance, blocking the stairs.

Blinding white flashes erupted like strobe lights. Microphones were shoved aggressively toward her face. Reporters screamed questions about the video, their voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.

Alaia didn't flinch. She stopped at the top of the stairs and swept her cold gaze over the mob. The sheer intensity in her eyes made the front row of reporters fall silent for a split second.

Before they could surge forward again, the screech of heavy tires ripped through the night. Four massive, black Cadillac Escalades slammed on their brakes, blocking the driveway.

A dozen men in black suits with earpieces poured out of the SUVs. They moved with military precision, shoving the paparazzi back, physically ripping a clear path through the mob.

Mitch Donovan, Gabriel's personal driver, stepped out of the center Maybach and respectfully pulled open the rear door.

Gabriel walked past Alaia, stopping right beside the open car door. He turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

"Get in," he ordered. Two words. Absolute authority.

Under the blinding flashes of a hundred cameras, Alaia ducked her head and slid into the backseat of the Maybach, stepping right into the center of Gabriel's world.