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.

The heavy door of the Maybach slammed shut, instantly killing the chaotic noise of the paparazzi. The dark, bulletproof windows completely isolated them from the flashing lights outside.

The car glided away from the curb, moving with silent, terrifying power.

The interior was massive. Alaia leaned back against the plush leather seat. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright started to fade, and the sharp, throbbing pain in her lower back flared up again. She shifted uncomfortably, her brow furrowing.

Gabriel sat next to her. He reached for the crystal decanter in the built-in console and poured two glasses of bourbon. He slid one across the small, polished table toward her.

Alaia didn't hesitate. She picked up the heavy crystal glass and took a sip. The liquid fire burned down her throat, chasing away the lingering chill in her bones.

Gabriel swirled his glass. The ice clinked sharply in the quiet cabin. He turned his head, his piercing eyes scanning her face.

"The angle of that video was flawless," Gabriel said, his voice a low rumble. "Almost like a perfectly executed assassination. Did you set the camera?"

Alaia met his gaze. She didn't blink. "Doesn't Mr. Alvarado appreciate an early escape from a bad investment?"

Gabriel let out a short, dark laugh. The sound was dangerous. "I do. But I don't like being played for a fool."

He leaned closer. The physical distance between them vanished. His broad shoulders blocked out the dim streetlights passing by the window. The sheer dominance rolling off his body made Alaia's fingers tighten around her glass.

"Using me as your shield comes with a price," Gabriel warned, his voice dropping an octave. "I don't do charity."

Alaia didn't shrink back. She met his intensity head-on.

"It's a trade," Alaia said, her voice steady. "I will completely annihilate Austen's public image. You will slaughter the Montgomery family in the market."

She leaned in slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "I overheard Austen and his father panicking in his study a few months ago. They were terrified because you've been circling their theater chains like a starving wolf for two years, planning a hostile takeover. This scandal is the perfect catalyst to tank their stock. I just handed the wolf a very sharp knife."

Gabriel's eyes darkened. The casual amusement vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp calculation. He hadn't expected this actress to know anything about his corporate war room.

He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers. Clink.

"Deal," he murmured. The devil's bargain was struck.

Alaia pulled back and set her glass down. She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. The screen was a chaotic mess of notifications.

Austen's PR team was already moving. They had flooded Twitter with statements claiming the video was a deepfake, an AI-generated smear campaign.

Simultaneously, thousands of bot accounts and rabid fans were swarming Alaia's mentions, calling her a manipulative bitch who set Austen up because she was jealous of his success.

Alaia stared at the screen, a cold sneer twisting her lips. In her past life, this exact type of cyberbullying had driven her to a breakdown. Tonight, she was going to make them bleed.

She opened her camera app. She didn't fix her hair. She didn't wipe the smudged mascara from her fake crying. She held the phone up and snapped a raw, unfiltered selfie.

She deliberately angled the camera so the distinct, custom lapel of Gabriel's suit jacket was clearly visible draped over her shoulder.

She opened X and attached the photo. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, typing a single, lethal sentence.

Yes, I was cheated on. The video is real. My heart is broken, but my eyes are finally open.

She hit post. The tweet launched into the digital war zone without a single PR filter.

Within sixty seconds, the retweet counter exploded past one hundred thousand. The raw emotion in her face, combined with her direct confirmation, instantly crushed Austen's "AI deepfake" defense.

Gabriel watched her thumbs fly across the screen. He raised an eyebrow. "You're a natural manipulator."

Alaia didn't look up from her screen. "When you're dealing with scum, you have to hit them harder and faster than they can breathe."

Suddenly, her phone screen changed. An incoming call popped up. It was Austen's manager. They were trying to buy her silence.

Alaia's thumb hovered over the red button. She pressed decline, then immediately blocked the number. She was severing every single tie to her past weakness.

The cabin fell silent again, save for the rapid, continuous buzzing of her phone as the internet tore Austen apart.

The Maybach smoothly decelerated. Mitch's voice came through the intercom.

"We've arrived at Ms. Dudley's apartment in West Hollywood, sir."