ALLURA'S POV
THREE WEEKS LATER
Time doesn't just pass; it gallops. Three weeks. In the fleeting space of twenty-one days, Xavier had surgically removed the rot from his family. Laurence learned a lesson etched in financial ruin—assets seized, spending monitored. The gold-digger even had the audacity to crash our residence, hissing accusations about me plotting with my "husband." I simply ignored her. Xavier didn't. He had her booted out the moment she tried to smooth her way back into his good graces.
Lucas, protected by the old Giovanni, was not so lucky. He was shipped off to Siberia. This old fox, Giovanni, wouldn't even spare his own grandson a seat at the table. He knew what he was doing; the man never said a word he didn't mean to, or rather, didn't want to say.
Michael and Donovan were sent to Belgium for military training—if they wanted to be useful. When Donovan foolishly protested, Xavier's response was brutal and swift: his pinky finger, severed and delivered as a souvenir. A stark reminder of the cost of betrayal. Many things changed; some I was privy to, others, I was deliberately kept in the dark about due to their 'gravity.'
On my side, Tasha and I had solidified a tight, comfortable friendship. We were inseparable, hitting the malls daily. I discovered she hadn't even named her son. She was frustratingly insistent that she had no interest in raising him. So, I volunteered. I named him Dawn. Magnus loved it; he found it beautiful and exciting and wouldn't stop calling the boy's name, and the little fella wouldn't stop fawning over me.
Xavier, of course, was always several steps ahead. His security detail was more like my shadow's shadow, and he knew my every move, every interaction.
The confrontation came one night. He stumbled into my room, dangerously drunk.
"So, what is it?" he slurred, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "Trying to flirt with Magnus right under my nose?"
I straightened, crossing my arms. "Don't be ridiculous. Being alone with Magnus actually repulses me." This was the truth, but he didn't look convinced.
"Then why did you name his child, Allura? Why name their child?" He took a halting step closer, his eyes narrowed, suddenly sharper than his intoxicated state suggested. "And on our wedding night—the way you spoke to me. The way you look at me now."
He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "I'm observant, Allura. I see things."
"Are you jealous?" I challenged, testing the ice.
His expression hardened instantly, the casual drunk veneer peeling away to reveal something dark and possessive. "Jealous? No. I'm more than jealous. I will kill to keep you close to me."
I smirked, trying to push him back, but he was too heavy, too solid. Before I could even finish my taunt, he grabbed me. Not roughly, but with a terrifying finality, his hand finding the base of my neck.
He slammed his mouth onto mine, a kiss fueled by liquor and rage. It was a breach of contract, a violation of the fragile walls we'd built, but in that moment, I threw the contract out the window. His tongue fought for dominance, demanding a response. His free hand swept down to my waist, wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his hard body. Then he gripped my hair, tilting my head back as he kissed me harder, deeper, punishing me with his need. A dangerous, insistent tingling sensation started low in my belly, and I hated myself for the surrender I felt rising. It's a show, I desperately told myself. This is all for the show.
With a sudden burst of strength I didn't know I possessed, I shoved him back. We were both breathing hard, the air thick with tension and the smell of expensive whiskey.
"Stop it!" I yelled, my voice shaking. "Get a hold of yourself, Xavier! I am your contract wife! This behavior is inappropriate and uncalled for. The show isn't on yet."
For a fleeting second, I saw genuine hurt flash in his eyes—a raw emotion that felt misplaced, as if he were lashing out at Samantha's ghost, not me.
My anger deflated. I pulled him gently toward the bed, a reluctant empathy settling over me. I pushed him onto the mattress and covered his broad, still frame with the duvet.
"Sleep it off," I whispered, turning away before I could regret my small gesture of kindness.
THE NEXT DAY
I woke slowly, a delicious languor settling over me. My head rested on something firm, a slow, steady drumbeat vibrating against my ear. A large, warm hand was raking through my hair, gently, rhythmically smoothing the strands. I suppressed a moan, a purely physical reaction to the unexpected comfort. I was aware of something hard poking the side of my thigh, but I knew its identity and made no move to acknowledge or protest it.
The scent of him was intoxicating this morning—not the harsh reek of whiskey, but a clean, masculine blend of amber wood and musk. It was a stark contrast to the heavily drunk brute from last night.
He continued his hypnotic caress until he finally stopped.
"Sleep well?" His voice was a low, morning rumble against my scalp.
I simply nodded, pushing myself up from his chest. My eyes, almost involuntarily, landed squarely on his form: a broad, chiseled chest and perfectly sculpted abs, all on display.
A small smirk played on his lips. "Had enough? You're eyes-fucking me, Allura."
"There is no such thing in this world, Xavier."
He didn't challenge me further. Instead, he rose in one smooth motion, retrieving the crumpled white shirt he'd tossed to the floor in his drunken discomfort last night. The moment of intimacy was shattered.
I was trying to relegate the kiss to a drunken hallucination when he brought it up himself.
"You've certainly learned how to kiss," he murmured, pulling the shirt over his head. "It was... surprisingly good." He turned, his expression carefully neutral. "Look, forget whatever I said last night. Forget it happened. I apologize."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a punishment. "I felt nothing, Allura. I was just practicing my lines for when Samantha—my only true love—finally wakes up."
The words landed with a dull, familiar thud. My mask didn't slip.
"Forget about it," I said flatly, pulling the covers away. "I shoved you aside. Nothing happened between us. Not even the kiss. Perhaps you dreamt it."
He didn't answer. Instead, the side of his mouth lifted in a charming, dangerously attractive smirk. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the cool, silent aftermath.
Some minutes later, I was dressed for my mission: pristine white leggings, a white turtleneck long-sleeve top, a black face cap, and a black purse. Tasha had signed me up for a 'Rich Women's Gathering.' I guessed the itinerary: gossip, social posturing, and endless discussions about the latest fashion trends. I wasn't about that life, but for the sake of revenge, I was willing to play any part.
I reached the bottom of the grand staircase. Xavier was already seated at the massive dining table, looking every bit the King in his dark suit, calmly eating his breakfast. The sight of him, so composed after last night's volatility, killed whatever small appetite I might have managed to muster.
I waved dismissively at Madison, reaching for my car keys.
"Going to starve yourself, Allura?" Xavier's voice was casual, but the question was a command disguised as concern.
I paused, turning just slightly. "I intend to eat, but my appetite is currently missing. I'll join you later, perhaps for lunch."
He watched me, his fork halfway to his mouth. "One more thing." He set his cutlery down, the slight metallic sound echoing in the large room. "Avoid Magnus. At all costs."
I raised a challenging eyebrow. "Why? Is he also part of the grand 'show' I'm supposed to be putting on?"
"No," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "I don't trust the way he stares at you. Remember who you are. You are my wife, contracted or not. And I won't have him looking at what's mine."
"Noted," I said, suppressing the small, irritating flutter in my chest that his possessiveness caused. I walked out without waiting for a reply, the weight of his warning heavy on my departure.
SOME TIME LATER, AT THE WOMEN'S GATHERING, BAR BEACH.
The yoga session was a façade. Seven women, draped in designer Lycra, held their poses while competing for the most irrelevant anecdote. Pathetic, truly.
Rebecca Palmer, a woman with eyes as sharp as her diamond solitaire, turned her gaze directly to me. "Have you attended any of these shows, Samantha? Considering you married into an... openly crime-adjacent family."
I offered a cool, practiced smile. "Oh, frequently. I have seen the most spectacular shows and expensive items. During my studies abroad, for example, my birthday was rather memorable. Xavier flew Leonardo DiCaprio and Rihanna in just for the party."
The room collectively gasped, their yoga poses forgotten. I felt a grim satisfaction at their gullibility.
Tasha, sensing her moment slipping away, tried to interject, "Well, I have actually been to..."
"Tasha, dear," Rebecca cut in, her voice dripping with venom. "Why don't you just breathe? We've tolerated you this much, considering your family money is quite bankrupt now."
Tanya, with slightly more tact, interjected quickly. "Rebecca, please! She's our friend, and we have a guest."
"What guest?" Rebecca scoffed. "Samantha is a bona fide member from this moment forward. She doesn't need to be coddled."
Tasha laughed, a brittle, bitter sound. "A member? I've been here six months! I was only deemed a 'member' in the seventh! How is that fair?"
Amanda, another woman, chimed in with icy disdain. "Who are you to complain, Tasha? You should be grateful we haven't kicked you out. After you stole your best friend's husband. A lovely woman who gave you everything—even made you her husband's secretary. But the moment her body went cold? A week later, you and Magnus were at an auction. Three days after that, married."
The fool. She made Tasha the secretary.
I totally deserved it, I was the fool who had given this repulsive slut a position in my marriage and also the same fool gullible enough to think I was loved by a cheater.
"Exactly," Rebecca stated, nodding viciously. "Tasha is a homewrecker and has no right to be among us."
Tasha's control snapped. She shrieked, "You hypocrites! You idiots! Didn't you all marry old men who can't perform just to wait for the inheritance?"
Flora shot back instantly, "Marrying an old man for his money is better than sleeping with and stealing your best friend's husband, you viper!"
Delinquent, gullible fools, I concluded. Before I could move to intervene, Tasha grabbed a half-empty champagne bottle and, with a guttural scream of rage, slammed it down on Rebecca's head.
Rebecca shrieked, blood streaming down her face.
I strategically held my distance, watching the other women descend on Tasha, slapping, shoving, and humiliating her. When the violence reached a peak, I played the reluctant heroine. "Stop it! Enough!" I shouted, forcing myself between them.
Minutes later, Tasha was sobbing brokenly into my shoulder outside the building. Rebecca was inside getting stitches. This was messy, but it created a perfect, vulnerable opening. Propaganda is the next step.
Flora rushed out and stopped right in front of me, her eyes hard. "You better guide your man, Samantha. Safeguard him from sly serpents like that one." She leaned in close. "Otherwise, you might find yourself in a secret marriage that ends like Allura Frost's—dead with multiple bullet wounds in a mall parking lot."
A cold jolt shot through me. Dead? Xavier only said it was "taken care of," implying the body was never found. Flora, you shouldn't worry, I thought, watching Tasha's pathetic form. Tasha has just bought her doom.
"Wipe your tears," I instructed, pulling Tasha away.
I soon took her to a quiet place at am amusement park and we sat down enjoying our ice cream. Tasha has stopped sobbing her mascara already a trailing mess on her cheek.
Tasha began her wretched confession. "I've always been in bad relationships... always cheated on. My best friend, Allura... she was basking in wealth while I suffered. I was jealous, Samantha. So jealous."
She detailed her horrible past. "But good Allura... she never judged. She pulled me out, got me a job. She gave me a reason to live after seven suicide attempts."
You ungrateful wretch, the voice inside me seethed.
"One night, the jealousy was too much. I choked my cheating boyfriend to death and buried his body in the Frost Company factory."
I gripped my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. Keep talking, you fool.
"The company was accused of murder. They had to sell half their assets. Sed-seducing Magnus was easy... three years into his marriage with Allura."
"Then she discovered us," Tasha whispered. "She had been gone three years, looking so poor and wretched. For a fleeting moment, I was to be above her. I hit her head with a golf stick... hoping she'd just die. But she was too strong. She survived, only to be sold to Lucas Turner. And then... dumped at the mall."
Allura who died survived, you idiot. And I am standing right before you. And I will make you pay for every second of it, I silently vowed.
Tasha looked up, desperate for absolution. "Do you hate me, Samantha? Do you feel disgusted?"
"No," I lied, forcing genuine concern into my eyes. "Everyone has skeletons in their closet." I despise you.
Tasha continued, detailing the pathetic reality of her life with Magnus. "Now I want a divorce, but he says he'll report the murder to the police."
I was stunned. Their marriage was a deadly hostage situation. Tasha's voice hardened. "Even now, after her death, when Magnus is angry, he compares me to his first wife! Why wouldn't the bitch just die peacefully? I took all her pictures and burned them!"
"Maybe it's because you're the one who hadn't moved moved on. Or perhaps," I lowered my voice to a dangerous, calculated warmth, "you're not making enough money to satisfy his power obsession, like Allura did."
Tasha's eyes widened, desperate hope flaring. "Is there a way, Samantha? To make enough money? To gain full control of the family and shut him up?"
I placed a hand firmly on Tasha's shoulder, my gaze locking hers.
"Yes," I said, a shark's smile spreading across my face. "But this won't be about money, Tasha. This will be about taking everything he loves, everything he fears, and leaving him with nothing but ash."
"I need you to listen very carefully. You want revenge? You want freedom? Then you need to forget Magnus and focus on the only person who can truly crush him."
"Show me the way," Tasha pleaded, desperate.
"The way," I whispered, my voice a deadly silk, " come closer the walls have ears.