Chapter 9
Alexander kept his arm around my waist, gently pulling me aside. “He’ll kill him!” I hissed, watching William approach, brandishing a vintage cricket bat.
A dangerous smile played across Alexander’s sculpted features. “Darling, death would be too merciful.” He pulled out his phone, his upper-class accent dripping with dark amusement. “Have a medical team on standby at the Blackwood estate. Discretion is paramount.” His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, a stark contrast to the tension in the air. I shot him an incredulous look.
Castro tore his gaze from William’s approach, his perfectly maintained façade crumbling like his mud-stained Armani suit. “Aveline, we never properly ended things. This arranged marriage—it’s just business. You can’t possibly—”
The crack of willow on bone sliced through the morning air as William’s bat connected with surgical precision. Castro crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.
“I’ve been standing here listening to your bullshit,” William snarled. “You manipulated my sister, struck her, and now you have the audacity to make demands?” Another swing punctuated his words. Despite his designer suit now being thoroughly ruined by grass stains, Castro kept his desperate eyes locked on me, dragging himself forward like a wounded animal.
“Will, stop!” I called out as he raised the bat again.
Hope flared in Castro’s eyes. “You see? She still cares. What we had—”
I pulled away from Alexander’s protective hold and approached Castro. His triumphant smile froze as I crouched before him, letting my palm connect with his face. “That,” I said with deadly calm, “makes us square. Next time you raise a hand to me, I won’t be so gentle.”
“As for breaking up—I must point out—it’s rather difficult to break up when you never publicly acknowledged me as your girlfriend, isn’t it? Hard to end something that officially never existed.”
Rising gracefully, I smoothed my dress. “I’ll make this crystal clear, Castro: I don’t love you anymore. The next time you show up here, I won’t stop William.”
I grabbed William’s arm, turning my back on Castro’s broken form sprawled across our lawn. William, however, remained reluctant to leave.
“No need to face murder charges over someone like him,” I snapped.
William tossed the vintage cricket bat aside with visible reluctance, but couldn’t resist straddling Castro to deliver a series of precise punches that would definitely rearrange that aristocratic nose job.
Once William had vented his rage, Alexander signaled the waiting medical team. Four uniformed paramedics efficiently loaded our unwanted visitor onto a stretcher.
“I’ve fucked her for seven years,” Castro’s voice rang out with vindictive spite as we turned to leave. “How does it feel, bro, marrying my leftovers?”
Both men spun around with lethal grace. I caught William’s Savile Row sleeve, but Alexander was already moving. He pressed his Italian leather shoe into Castro’s injured leg, grinding down with precise pressure.
“You know,” he remarked conversationally, though his eyes were arctic, “you’re making quite a case for why the old money families still value breeding.” “Don’t worry, you’ll have a front-row seat to watch her live her best life without you.” “Take him away.”
Once the ambulance had disappeared down the private drive, Alexander’s demeanor shifted completely. He threaded his fingers through mine, his touch gentle. “Shall we hit Bond Street? Perhaps start with Cartier, work our way down to Chanel?”
I blinked at him, confused. After such drama, he wanted to… shop? “Why shopping?”
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Mother says shopping is the best cure for a woman’s troubled heart.”
“My heart needs healing too!” William interjected hopefully. “I could use some therapeutic Rolex shopping.”
Alexander smoothly shouldered him aside, leading me toward his Aston Martin.
During the drive, I tried to explain everything, but he gently cut me off: “The past is past. I don’t need you to reopen old wounds. None of it matters to me.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I must say, I rather enjoyed being called ‘a man of integrity.’ Do go on about my virtues.”
His playfulness elicited a genuine laugh from me.
By sunset, his Aston Martin overflowed with distinctive bags from every luxury boutique in Mayfair, purchases spilling from the boot into the back seats. William sulked on the mansion’s steps, cuddling our Persian cat and making exaggerated comments about favoritism. Whatever darkness Castro had tried to bring dissolved in the warmth of laughter and new beginnings.