La Pierre wasn't a restaurant.
It was a declaration.
All velvet walls, gold ceilings, and silence heavy with wealth. They had someone to escort, announce, and worship anyone upon their arrival at La Pierre.
Yuna stepped through the towering glass doors like she owned the place. Her crimson gown clung like a dare. Heels sharp. Eyes sharper. She didn't come here to play nice.
She came to play powerful.
The hostess didn't ask her name. Just whispered, "Mr. Wolfe is waiting," and led her upstairs.
The private suite overlooked the city skyline. It shimmered behind glass like a jewel box waiting to shatter.
And there he was.
Alexander Wolfe.
Not smiling.
Not rising.
Just watching.
Black suit. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned at the throat, ignoring decorum. A glass of something amber in one hand. The other resting near a folder of documents—pristine, precise.
"Miss Eastin," he said, voice like expensive bourbon—rich, and hiding fire underneath.
She slid into the seat across from him. "Let's skip the small talk."
His mouth curved just a little. "Agreed."
A server appeared, poured wine, and vanished. Without a word.
Then silence.
Heavy.
Until Alexander placed his glass down and said calmly, "Your sister marrying David isn't just a betrayal. It's a strategy."
Yuna's eyes narrowed. "You know them?"
"I know the families. David's father was part of the consortium that destroyed my mother's company."
Something flickered in his eyes then. Not anger—something colder. Deeper.
"Your mother?" Yuna asked, cautiously.
"She built a tech empire from nothing. Patents. Software. They called her a genius until she made a deal with the Eastins and Winslows. Months later, her company was gutted. The patents were sold. She died a year later."
"…I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said. "Just help me return the favor."
Yuna leaned back, arms folded. "And what exactly does that involve?"
"A fake relationship," he said simply. "You and me. Public. Intense. Strategic."
She blinked. "You want to date me?"
"I want the world to believe we're building something powerful together—romantically, professionally. It disrupts their plans, taints Elsa's clean-girl image, and repositions you from betrayed heiress to unstoppable phoenix."
Yuna's throat felt tight. "Why me?"
His eyes held hers. "Because you have nothing left to lose… and everything they fear."
Silence again.
Her mind raced.
Could she really walk into another lie?
But then she remembered her mother's face at the station. Elsa's smug smile. David's empty vows.
And she remembered the little girl inside her who had always done what she was told.
Not anymore.
"Fine," she said. "But I don't kiss on command."
"I don't want your kiss," Alexander said, voice calm. "I want your presence. Your headlines. Your rage."
She smirked. "You'll get plenty of that."
The next morning, the internet exploded.
> BREAKING: Yuna Eastin Spotted with Billionaire Alexander Wolfe—Is the Heiress Rebounding or Rebranding?
> From Jilted to Jet-Set: Yuna's Fiery Comeback with New Power Partner
> Beauty and the Wolfe?
Yuna stood in the corner of Alexander's penthouse, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. The walls were glass. The air smelled of cedar, steel, and secrets.
She wasn't sure how she felt about being in his world.
But it beat crying in hers.
Alexander stepped out of his room shirtless, a towel draped around his neck, water still glistening at his collarbone. He moved with precision, not vanity. Like a man who didn't have to try—he just was.
"Morning," he said.
"You live in a skyscraper," she said flatly.
He glanced around. "You get used to it."
"You live in a skyscraper and still don't have curtains?"
He smirked. "Let them look."
She sipped her coffee. "Well, they are. Everyone is."
He checked his phone. "Good. Let them choke on it."
The charity gala was three days later.
Their first public event as a couple.
Yuna wasn't sure what unnerved her more: the cameras… or the fact that Alexander had already memorized how she liked her coffee.
Versair delivered a gown that shimmered like molten gold. The slit was high. The back, dangerously low. She felt naked and powerful all at once.
Alexander met her at the foot of the Wolfe Tower stairs, his suit black as midnight, cufflinks glinting.
"You're late," she said.
"You're perfect," he replied.
She paused.
It didn't sound like strategy.
But she didn't ask.
They arrived at the Mirador Hotel like royalty. The press lost their minds. Flashes lit the entrance like a lightning storm.
David and Elsa were already inside.
Of course.
When Elsa spotted her, she dropped her flute of champagne.
Yuna smiled, all teeth. "Oops."
David approached, jaw clenched. "You're making a scene again."
Alexander stepped forward. "Then stop giving her a reason."
Elsa's face hardened. "You're using her for attention."
"And you used your sister's wedding plans," Alexander said smoothly. "Tell me—did you at least use different vows?"
David's hand twitched.
Yuna took Alexander's arm. "Let's not fight in public," she said sweetly. "We wouldn't want the press to know how weak you really are."
Later that night, they stood by the balcony, wine in hand, the gala glittering below them.
"You did good," Alexander said.
She turned to him. "You really think this will work?"
"Half of society already forgot your scandal. The other half now fears you."
She didn't smile. Not yet.
"I'm not a pawn," she said.
"I know."
"I want full say in how this plays out."
"You'll have it."
"And no touching."
Alexander looked at her then—really looked.
"Understood."
But his eyes said something else.
Something unreadable.
Something dangerous.
She turned away, unsettled.
Not because he'd agreed.
But because part of her didn't want him to.
They returned to Wolfe Tower around midnight. She kicked off her heels and collapsed on the sofa, her gown pooling around her like liquid power.
Alexander poured them both whiskey.
They sat in silence for a while.
"I don't trust you," she blurted.
He nodded. "Good."
"Why did you really choose me for this?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Because you remind me of myself."
She laughed bitterly. "That's not comforting."
"It wasn't supposed to happen."
They drank.
The city stretched outside the glass like a sleeping dragon.
And then—
Her phone buzzed.
No name.
Just a number.
She opened it.
Another photo.
Yuna.
Standing on the Wolfe balcony.
Tonight.
Taken from across the street.
Captioned:
> "You're not hiding. You're hunted."
Her skin chilled.
She handed it to Alexander without a word.
His jaw clenched.
"I'll handle it."
But Yuna knew something then.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
This was war.
And someone out there wanted her gone.
Not ruined.
Erased.