CHAPTER 82

ALEXANDER

You could have felt the energy in the room drop to arctic levels from the moon’s milky orbit as we stood face-to-face with the billionaire mogul that had just a little too much hair spray in his slick, jet-black hair.

So much so that he looked like a water seal waiting in line for choir practice instead of the sick perverted new money bastard he was.

“If it isn't Stefan Mccoy, I admit I had to think about the name a bit. A little low on the social calendars aren't you?” I cooed, watching the chiseled lines of his face harden until I could have sworn he’d been carved from stone.

“Oh spare the compliments Alexander, the only thing low on social calendars is that pretty little wife of yours,” Stefan McCoy jeered, his gold tooth flashing briefly as I felt the ball of my fists clench and shake with subdued rage beside me.

What the fuck was he talking about? How had he known about Darlene? Fucking hell, of course, he did, what with the way the tabloids have been carrying the papar