ALEXANDER
He told himself it didn't matter.
Elenor could go out with Elijah. She could laugh with him. Smile. Flirt.
She could do whatever the hell she wanted.
She wasn't his.
But every time Alexander saw them standing too close, every time that soft, warm laugh spilled from her lips and wasn't meant for him, something in him twisted hard.
He wasn't a jealous man. Jealousy was for the insecure, the powerless.
He was neither.
And yet… when Elijah leaned over her desk like he owned the space, Alexander's pen snapped clean in his hand.
He slipped the broken pen into the drawer, face smooth, expression unreadable. The world feared him for his control. His precision. His coldness.
But Elenor Vale made him feel something dangerously close to possessive.
And that was unacceptable.
That afternoon, he shut the office blinds to block out the distraction, telling himself he was focused on work. He didn't have time for this — not with his parents circling like vultures about heirs and marriage, not with the press waiting for another Wolfe scandal.
And he hadn't even dealt with the current one.
His younger brother was making headlines again.
Something about a married woman. Or two.
Alexander exhaled slowly, the irritation settling between his shoulders.
Which reminded him—
⸻
ELAN
There was an unspoken rule when it came to Elan Wolfe:
You only slept with him once.
Not because he wasn't good —
But because he was too good.
He didn't do names.
He didn't do second rounds.
He didn't do softness.
He was sin wrapped in success — filthy rich, cocky, and devastatingly good-looking.
And he knew it.
Women came to him willingly. Desperately.
And unlike his older brother Alexander — who was cold, intimidating, and kept people at a distance — Elan knew how to make them scream.
Tonight was no different.
The woman had already stripped down for him by the time he stepped into the penthouse suite. Legs spread, lips parted, eyes hungry.
"Ready?" he asked, smirking, voice lazy with amusement.
She nodded, breathless. "Yes… Elan."
He didn't kiss her.
Didn't even touch her gently.
He bent her over the bed, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other gripping her hip tight as he thrust into her from behind.
Hard.
Deep.
Relentless.
Every thrust made her scream.
Every scream made him harder.
Her pussy drooled around him, hot and slick, swallowing his cock with greedy, wet sounds that echoed in the room.
"That's it," he growled into her ear. "Take it."
She gasped. "Oh my god—Elan—"
"You like being used, don't you?" he muttered, tightening his grip on her throat. "Say it."
"I—I do. I love it!"
He grinned against her neck, voice dark and filthy.
"Good girl. Just how I like them — loud, soaking, and desperate."
She whimpered beneath him, body shaking, her cries growing louder as he fucked her like it was the only thing that mattered.
And for him, in that moment — it was.
"Who's making you feel this good?" he demanded, slamming into her so hard the bed shook.
"You are—fuck—yes, Daddy!"
He chuckled low and rough.
"Damn right I am."
But when it was over, he didn't hold her.
He didn't ask if she was okay.
Didn't pretend it meant something.
Because it never did.
He walked into the bathroom, leaving her panting on the sheets — used, ruined, and just another night in his long list of faceless women.
And as the shower ran hot over his skin, the only thing in his mind was the silence that followed.
The emptiness.
He wondered if Alexander ever felt it too.
⸻
ELENOR
By the time lunch rolled around, the whispers had slowed — but the looks hadn't.
She was halfway through organizing the new financials when Elijah stopped by her desk again.
He grinned. "Still up for that dinner?"
She hesitated.
Alexander hadn't said a word to her since the elevator.
He hadn't looked at her either — not in the way he used to. It was like he was trying to pretend it never happened.
"Sure," she said finally. "Dinner sounds nice."
But as Elijah walked away, Elenor's stomach twisted.
She should be excited. Elijah was sweet, charming… safe.
So why did her pulse still race every time she passed Alexander's door?
Why did his silence feel louder than the office chatter?
She shook her head and turned back to her work, willing herself not to care.
But deep down, she already knew the truth.
She'd never be able to unfeel the way his hands had steadied her in that elevator.
The way his eyes had burned into her.
The way her body had betrayed her, reacting to a man who didn't want her — couldn't want her.
Still… something had shifted.
And no matter how tightly he shut his blinds…
She could feel him watching.
⸻