Page 8 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow (Eternal Oath Saga #2)

Katherine

There’s a quote I remember hearing when I was a kid. Something about time flying when you’re having fun.

I think that quote’s true. Maybe not fun in the purest sense, necessarily—not laughter and games—but when you’ve got some peace. When life feels a little lighter, and dare I say it, when you’ve found a slice of happiness.

The days have been speeding by lately. Two months since that first night with Alex. What started as a calculated move, a date designed to give me space from Frank and Lawrence, has become something else entirely.

Two months filled with dates I stopped pretending were just for show. Nights that I actually look forward to. Sitting in my office sharing dinner with him, laughing over some small, ridiculous thing, or just soaking in the safety of his presence. And it’s hard not to notice the feeling growing inside me.

Tonight, though, won’t be one of those quiet, intimate nights. No cozy office dinners today. Tonight’s dinner is a corporate affair. A chance for the board to mingle with some of our prospective partners for the expansion into Asia—a little less formal, but just as important.

Of course, this is one of those events where the elders would insist I arrive with a date, someone polished, someone who fits the role. And I smile at the thought of Alex there with me.

The day’s work drifts by in a haze, everything ticking along more easily than it usually does. I shut down my computer earlier than normal; tonight’s dinner calls for a little extra time to get ready.

The drive home is quick, only a few minutes, but anticipation bubbles up as I make my way back to my apartment. Alex has been staying over more lately, especially on the nights we go out. It’s… new. A feeling I didn’t even know I wanted but have come to cherish. There’s something about knowing someone’s there when you open the door.

As I step into the building and push open the door to my apartment, a wave of warmth greets me. Not just the warmth of home—but an actual warmth. A savory, sweet scent drifts through the air, wrapping around me. My stomach growls on cue.

“Alex?” I call out, my curiosity piqued, but before I can take another step, he steps out of the kitchen, his heavy footsteps padding across the wooden floor.

He stands there, tall and broad, wearing a black apron that looks comically small against his muscular frame. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing those strong forearms, the kind that seem to make ordinary gestures—like wiping his hands on a dish towel—look absurdly captivating.

“I made a little treat,” he says casually, his voice low and calm, the kind of tone that has a way of settling my nerves. “Something to snack on before we head out.”

I glance toward the kitchen, trying to focus on the sweet scent and not how unfairly good he looks. “Must be some snack,” I reply, unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Smells amazing.”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “It’s nothing fancy. Just thought you might like a bite before tonight.”

I nod, but my gaze lingers, taking in the details: the way his hair is slightly mussed, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times. And I have to look away before my mind wanders somewhere inappropriate because this dinner is important, and I don’t have time to lose myself in thoughts of him.

He disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, it’s with a small plate and a fork in hand. “It’s pie,” he says, holding the plate out to me, his tone casual, like he hasn’t just turned my apartment into a five-star bistro.

I accept the plate and take a bite, and oh my… this isn’t just pie. It’s perfection. Flaky crust, sweet, tangy filling—every bite feels like it’s been crafted with care. But at this point, I’m not surprised. It’s one of the many things I’ve come to learn about Alex over the past couple of months. He knows so much. Not just surface-level stuff, but the kind of knowledge that makes you stop and wonder. Fine dining etiquette, how to whip up gourmet-level meals, subtle cues that hint at a past he hasn’t let me into yet.

I take another bite, savoring it, but force myself to put the fork down before the plate is empty. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t have room for dinner tonight,” I say, laughing softly as I push the plate back toward him.

He smiles, that subtle, knowing smile he always has. “I guess we should get ready, then.”

Getting ready doesn’t take long. I had my dress and jewelry picked out days ago—a sleek black number that fits like a glove, paired with delicate, understated accessories. It’s a classic look, elegant but not too loud, just the right balance for tonight’s event.

When I step out of my room, I find Alex already waiting in the living room.

And God help me, the man looks incredible.

He’s in a perfectly tailored suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and lean frame like it was made just for him. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket is unbuttoned just enough to hint at a more casual edge, and the way his hair is slicked back gives him an air of effortless sophistication. He looks like he’s stepped right out of a dream.

He steps toward me. He doesn’t say a word at first, just takes me in, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Then he holds out his hand, palm open, his voice low and smooth as he asks, “May I?”

I place my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. His fingers curl around mine gently but firmly, and I can’t help but smile.

I could get used to this.

The car ride to the venue feels quiet, but not in a bad way. There’s something about watching him drive, something that tugs at a deeper part of me. It’s a simple moment, but it feels like so much more. Maybe it’s the quiet strength he exudes, or maybe it’s the realization that a small, selfish part of me wishes this wasn’t just an arrangement.

When we pull up to the venue, the world outside feels louder and brighter. The grand diner hall is nothing short of luxurious, a glittering display of wealth and power. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over tables adorned with fine china and crystal glasses. The air is filled with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the faint clinking of cutlery.

Alex steps out first, coming around to open my door. I slip my hand into his as we walk in, his touch steady and warm against mine. It feels natural.

Inside, the crowd is already gathered. Familiar faces mingle—board members, prospective partners, and, of course, Uncle Lawrence and Frank. They’re doing what they do best, greeting guests with smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes.

Alex and I fall into the rhythm we’ve mastered over the past couple of months. I introduce him as my boyfriend, and every time, he plays the part perfectly. There’s a natural ease to the way he engages people—whether it’s about politics, policy, or business strategies. He speaks with confidence, and even I sometimes find myself marveling at how much he knows. But at this point, I’ve stopped questioning it. It’s just... Alex.

Then the sharp clink of glass interrupts the hum of the room. My head instinctively turns toward the sound, and I see Frank standing near the center of the hall, a wine glass in hand, tapping it lightly with a spoon. His expression is one of calculated charm, the kind that always seems to carry an edge beneath the surface.

A toast. Of course.

The room begins to quiet as attention turns to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to make a toast to celebrate our new partnership…” Frank begins, his voice warm and practiced, radiating the confidence of someone who knows the room is his for the taking. He stands tall, his wine glass raised, and the room hums with polite attention.

The corners of his mouth twitch up into a self-satisfied smile, and I can already tell he’s basking in the moment. The spotlight suits him. Too bad he doesn’t actually deserve it. I can stomach his theatrics, though. If his little show is keeping the guests entertained, fine.

“Here at Pinnacle Group, we see possibilities where others do not,” Frank continues, his tone swelling with false gravitas. “This partnership and expansion plan is a testament to that. There were many doubters, many who felt that this didn’t need to happen. But through sheer determination and the desire to make the impossible possible… here we are.”

A soft wave of applause ripples through the room. The guests are nodding, smiling, eating it up like he’s the hero of the story. I almost laugh out loud. The irony is a little too rich for my taste. Frank—Frank of all people—standing here and waxing poetic about possibilities when he did everything in his power to kill the expansion plan? Please. But his voice drones on, smooth as silk.

“Whether it’s in business, in life, or even in love,” Frank says, letting the word love hang in the air for a beat too long, “we believe in making the impossible possible. Like creating a partnership that breaks past language barriers…”

I feel it before it happens. That subtle change in his tone. The way his voice dips just enough to make the next words feel heavier, loaded. I sit up straighter, every nerve in my body on edge.

“…or finding love with a janitor when you’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company.”

My heart stops.

Frank’s eyes lock onto mine, green and glinting with mischief, and he smirks like the devil himself. It’s not even subtle. He knows exactly what he’s doing. My body stiffens, heat flooding my face, but I keep my expression neutral. Barely.

Frank knows.

“I guess it’s fair to also dedicate this toast to our beloved CEO… my beloved cousin,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock affection. He chuckles softly, and the sound grates against every nerve in my body. “At one point, we all started to get a little worried. It seemed like she was too good for any man.” He pauses, his smirk widening. “But it’s heartwarming to see she’s found love in the most unlikely of places… with a janitor who works in our offices.”

The room goes still.

It’s the kind of silence that makes your ears ring, the kind that’s so heavy it presses against your chest. I can feel every single pair of eyes in the room turn toward Alex and me. The air feels thick.

Frank stands there, grinning like a cat that just cornered its prey. He dings his glass one more time, like he needs the attention back on him for a grand finale. “So, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice bright and cheerful, “to opportunities, to partnership, to making the impossible happen… and to love.”

He raises his glass, and the room follows suit, murmuring “cheers” with varying degrees of awkwardness.

I grip my champagne flute tighter than I should, my knuckles going white. I feel like I’m holding back a tidal wave of emotions—anger, embarrassment.

Frank lowers his glass, taking a sip like he’s just delivered a masterpiece of a toast, and the room starts to go back into its usual hum of conversation. But the damage is done. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I turn to Alex just then, searching his face for a clue, for any hint of what he’s thinking. But his expression is unreadable, locked in a calm veneer that only hints at the storm underneath. It’s not embarrassment—I can tell that much. No, it’s something closer to anger. A quiet, simmering fury, like the look of someone who feels deeply wronged but already knows exactly how they’ll handle it. His jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, but his eyes—those eyes hold something resolute.

A wave of guilt washes over me so strong it almost makes me dizzy. This is my fault. I’m the one who brought him into this world, who offered him the contract and set this whole situation into motion. I was so focused on shielding myself, I didn’t stop to think about what it might cost him. And now, because of me, he’s been publicly humiliated, dragged through the mud in front of a room full of people who don’t even see him as a person. The thought tightens something in my chest.

The rest of the dinner crawls by, every second feeling like an eternity. The awkward stares from some of the guests weigh heavy on me, their whispers brushing past my ears like tiny knives. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ignore it. But I can feel the heat of their gazes, the judgment, the curiosity.

Then, without a word, Alex lays his hand on mine. Just that. A small, simple gesture. But in this moment, it feels like everything. His fingers are warm, holding me when I feel like I’m fraying at the edges. He doesn’t say a single word, but the quiet strength in his touch is enough to steady my breathing. It’s as if, somehow, he’s shielding me.

The night drags on, and as some of the guests begin to leave, I see Frank weaving his way toward us. My fists clench instinctively at my sides. Every step he takes, every smug line etched into his face, makes my skin crawl. I can feel my pulse thrumming in my ears as he finally stops in front of us, that insufferable grin plastered across his face.

“I hope you enjoyed the speech,” he says, his voice oozing with mock sincerity.

“You look really proud of yourself, Frank,” I reply, keeping my tone even, though my nails dig into my palms.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says with a fake laugh, waving a hand like we’re sharing some inside joke. “Don’t be such a downer, cousin. I’m happy for you. Really.”

He turns to Alex then, and I feel a fresh wave of anger rising. “Oh, and I would head home early if I were you. Those floors aren’t going to mop themselves in the morning, ya know.”

And then, as if to drive the knife in deeper, he pats Alex on the shoulder. Like he’s a dog. A thing.

I’m on the verge of losing it, my whole body vibrating with suppressed rage as Frank saunters off, pleased with himself. But before I can say anything, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Lawrence is walking toward us now.

Alex notices him too. He tightens his grip on my hand—not too much, just enough for me to know he’s there, that he’s got me. It’s like he’s steeling me for whatever fresh hell is about to come.

Lawrence stops in front of us, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares. That sharp, assessing gaze of his moves from me to Alex and back again, and I can feel everything unspoken hanging in the air. It’s a look that says my brief reprieve from his constant prodding is over. Whatever peace I’d found, it’s gone now.

And then, without a word, he turns and walks away.

I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding and turn to Alex, my throat tight. “I’m sorry,” I manage. It’s the only thing I can say, but it feels so inadequate.

He looks at me, his gaze softening. His hands come up to rest on my shoulders, steady and sure. “No, Katherine. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His voice is calm, unshakable, and somehow, it soothes the jagged edges of my guilt. Then he stands, offering me his hand with a small, reassuring smile.

“Let’s go home.”

I take his hand, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me sane. And in this moment, maybe he is.