Chapter 188
Chapter 193
Madison
I held his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated by his intensity. “I’m not after anything, Mr. Knight. I didn’t accept this arrangement for your money. The only reason I agreed was for my mother’s hospital bills, which you pay directly to the hospital. I haven’t taken a single dollar from you beyond my regular salary p>
Something flickered in his eyes, perhaps surprise or even respect. He leaned back slightly, studying
me with newfound interest.
“That’s true,” he admitted, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’ve never asked for anything extra. No shopping sprees, no luxury gifts, no cash advances.” He tilted his head. “So what are you expecting from me, Madison? There must be something p>
“Just what we agreed to. You help my mother, I play the part.” I took a sip of wine, the expensive liquid warming my throat. “That’s it p>
Alexander chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “You’re a terrible negotiator. Most women in your position would be milking this situation for all it’s worth p>
“I’m not most women p>
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not p>
His hand moved higher on my thigh, his touch sending heat spiraling through me. I tried to focus on our conversation rather than the sensation of his fingers against my skin.
“Being in the public eye isn’t easy,” he said after a moment, his expression turning more serious.” The media can be ruthless. They build you up just to tear you down, fabricate stories out of thin air p>
“Like the one about you and Scarlett Reynolds p>
He nodded. “Exactly. They don’t care about the truth. They care about clicks and views. The more outrageous the headline, the more traffic they get p>
“Must be exhausting,” I said, genuinely curious. “Having your life dissected like that p>
Alexander’s fingers traced idle patterns on my skin as he spoke. “People think wealth and fame are shields, but they’re actually magnets for scrutiny. Every relationship becomes suspect. Every business decision gets analyzed to death.” He sighed. “And the worst part? The constant invasion of privacy p>
“Like what p>
“Paparazzi hiding in bushes to snap photos of you taking out the trash. Waiters are selling stories
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about what you ordered for dinner. Ex-employees leaking private conversations.” His jaw tightened. “Some journalists will do anything for a story, ethical or not p>
“That sounds horrible p>
“It can be. But not all media is toxic. There are still some outlets that prioritize accuracy over sensationalism. Reporters who actually verify facts before publishing.” He took another sip of wine.” Unfortunately, they’re becoming increasingly rare in a world where being first matters more than being right p>
I nodded, processing his words. It was easy to forget that his wealth and power came with their own unique burdens. The man sitting beside me, with his perfectly tailored clothes and commanding presence, dealt with challenges I’d never considered.
“It must be hard,” I said, genuinely curious now. “Being wealthy and famous, I mean. Everyone sees the private jets and penthouses, but not the rest p>
“It’s complicated. There are definite perks to having money and influence p>
“Like what p>
“Freedom,” he said immediately. “Financial freedom means choices most people never get to make. I can pursue projects I’m passionate about without worrying if they’ll pay the bills p>
I smiled. “Must be nice p>
“It is.” His hand stilled on my leg. “But there’s a flip side. People assume everything comes easily when you’re rich. They don’t see the sixty-hour work weeks or the decisions that keep you up at night p>
“Poor little rich boy,” I teased, surprising myself with my boldness.
His eyes darkened, but his lips curved upward. “Careful, Ms. Harper p>
“Or what?” The wine had loosened my tongue.
Alexander leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Or I might have to show you exactly what happens to employees who get too sassy p>
A delicious shiver ran down my spine. “I’m not just your employee anymore, Mr. Knight p>
“No,” he agreed, his voice dropping lower. “You’re not p>
The tension between us crackled like electricity. For a moment, I thought he might forget dinner altogether and carry me straight to his bedroom. Instead, he pulled back slightly and reached for his wine glass.
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“There are other benefits to wealth,” he continued conversationally, as if he hadn’t just set my body on fire with his proximity. “The ability to help others in meaningful ways. Funding medical research, supporting education initiatives p>
“Is that what drives you? Philanthropy p>
Alexander considered the question. “Partially. I enjoy building things and creating value. The money is a byproduct, a way to keep score.” He took another bite of his scallop. “But I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy the lifestyle p>
I watched him eat, noting the precision in his movements. Everything Alexander Knight did was deliberate, controlled.
“And what exactly do you enjoy about the lifestyle?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He set down his fork. “The freedom to indulge my… appetites p>
His hand resumed its exploration of my thigh, inching higher with each slow circle.
“Such as?” I prompted, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Fine wine.” His fingers traced the edge of my underwear. “Expensive art. Fast cars.” His touch grew bolder. “Beautiful women p>
I raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep my breathing even. “Women, plural p>
“Not anymore.” His eyes locked with mine. “Our arrangement is exclusive, Madison. I don’t share what’s mine.” 1
A thrill ran through me at his possessive tone. “I’m not yours, Mr. Knight. I’m… contracted p>
His laugh was low and dangerous. “Is that what you tell yourself p>
Before I could respond, he withdrew his hand and stood, collecting our plates. “Are you finished p>
I nodded, still flustered from his touch and words.
“Good. I made dessert p>
“You made dessert too?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He moved to the refrigerator. “I have many talents you haven’t discovered yet p>
I watched him remove a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and what looked like homemade whipped cream.
He placed the tray between us. “Open p>
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I parted my lips, and he fed me a strawberry. The chocolate shell cracked between my teeth, sweet and rich, followed by the tartness of the fruit. I couldn’t help the small moan that escaped me.
“Good?” he asked, his eyes darkening at my reaction.
“Very,” I admitted, licking a spot of chocolate from my lip.
Lucia Morh
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.