Chapter 6: Protector
1950words
"Perfect. I just finished my shift and need a shower before we go," my sister replied. "The spare key is under the mat."
I ended the call and paid the driver, clutching the small wrapped package—a first edition of my father's favorite mystery novel that had taken weeks to track down. Despite everything happening in my strange new life, I was determined to maintain some normalcy, like celebrating Dad's birthday.
The first hint that something was wrong came when I noticed a man with a camera loitering near the building entrance. He straightened when he saw me, his expression shifting from boredom to sudden interest.
"Ms. Winters?" he called, stepping into my path. "Elena Winters?"
I hesitated, alarm bells ringing in my head. "Excuse me, I need to get by."
"Just a few questions about your engagement to Alexander Blackwood," he persisted, raising his camera. The flash momentarily blinded me. "Is it true your father owes millions to loan sharks with ties to organized crime?"
My blood ran cold. How did he know about that?
Before I could respond, two more people materialized—a woman with a recorder and another man with a larger camera. They formed a semicircle, effectively trapping me against the building wall.
"Is Blackwood paying off your family's debts as part of your arrangement?" the woman asked, thrusting the recorder toward my face.
"Did you approach him with the proposal, or did he seek you out?" the first man pressed.
"No comment," I managed, trying to push past them. My heart hammered against my ribs as panic began to rise. "Please let me through."
"Sources say your father's accounting firm was involved in financial irregularities before his illness," the woman continued, her tone accusatory. "Is that where the debt originated?"
White-hot anger flashed through me. "That's absolutely false," I snapped, abandoning caution. "My father is an honest man who got sick. His only crime was having inadequate health insurance in this country."
I immediately regretted the outburst as they pounced on my reaction, questions coming faster, more aggressively. The cameras kept flashing, recording my distress for public consumption.
"Is your relationship with Blackwood real, or is this a business arrangement?"
"How does it feel to be the latest acquisition of America's most eligible bachelor?"
"What happens when he gets bored with you?"
I felt the wall solid against my back, nowhere to retreat. My breath came in short gasps as claustrophobia set in. These vultures had somehow uncovered my family's most painful secrets and were twisting them into tabloid fodder.
"Please," I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice. "I have nothing to say."
"I believe the lady asked you to move."
The deep, commanding voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The reporters turned as one, cameras swiveling to capture Alexander Blackwood striding toward us, his expression thunderous. He wore a charcoal suit that somehow made him look even more intimidating, like a predator dressed for a formal hunt.
"Mr. Blackwood! Perfect timing," the female reporter exclaimed. "Can you comment on your fiancée's family financial troubles?"
Alexander ignored her completely, his focus entirely on me. His eyes scanned my face, noting my distress with a flash of something that looked dangerously like genuine anger.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, positioning himself between me and the reporters.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Mr. Blackwood, is it true you're paying off—"
"You're trespassing on private property," Alexander cut in, his voice arctic. "And harassing my fiancée. I suggest you leave immediately before I call both the police and my legal team."
"This is a public sidewalk," the first reporter argued, though he took a step back from Alexander's imposing presence.
"And that," Alexander said, nodding toward the camera still recording, "is an invasion of privacy without consent. My attorneys will be very interested in the footage you've already captured."
Something in his tone—the absolute certainty that he could and would destroy them—made the reporters exchange nervous glances.
"We're just doing our jobs," the woman said, her earlier aggression faltering.
"Then do them elsewhere." Alexander's arm slid around my waist, pulling me protectively against his side. "This is your only warning."
The solid warmth of him steadied me, even as the possessive gesture sent a confusing flutter through my stomach. His arm felt like a shield, strong and secure, yet the intimacy of his touch reminded me of the complex nature of our relationship.
Without waiting for their response, Alexander guided me toward a black SUV I hadn't noticed before, parked at the curb with the engine running. James opened the door as we approached, his usually impassive face showing concern.
"Take us home," Alexander instructed as we slid into the backseat. "And inform security there may be paparazzi following."
The privacy screen rose silently as the car pulled away from the curb. Only then did Alexander's arm release me, though he remained close, studying my face with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
"Are you truly alright?" he asked again, his voice softer now that we were alone.
The genuine concern in his tone was my undoing. The adrenaline that had kept me functioning suddenly drained away, leaving me shaking. To my horror, tears welled in my eyes.
"They knew about my father," I whispered, my voice breaking. "About the loans, everything. They made it sound like he'd done something criminal."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "I'll find out who leaked that information."
"How did you know I was here?" I asked, wiping angrily at a tear that had escaped.
"I didn't." He handed me a pristine handkerchief from his pocket. "I was on my way to a meeting when James spotted the reporters. He recognized you from their photographs."
I dabbed at my eyes, embarrassed by my breakdown but too rattled to maintain my usual composure. "They were waiting for me. They knew I'd be visiting Sophie."
"Someone is feeding them information," Alexander agreed, his expression darkening. "This wasn't a random encounter."
The realization that someone was actively tracking my movements sent a chill through me. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite the SUV's tinted windows.
"Who would do that? And why?"
Alexander's eyes met mine, serious and intent. "Someone who wants to undermine our relationship in the public eye. Someone who benefits if our engagement appears fraudulent."
"Victoria," I breathed, remembering his cousin's hostility at the gala.
"Possibly. Or my uncle Richard." His hand moved to cover mine, the touch unexpectedly gentle. "I'll handle this, Elena."
---
"I've increased security," Alexander informed me later that evening, entering the living room where I sat curled on the sofa with a book I wasn't really reading. "You'll have a personal detail when you leave the building without me."
I looked up, frowning. "A bodyguard? That seems excessive."
"Today's incident suggests otherwise." He moved to the bar, pouring himself a scotch. "Would you like one?"
I shook my head. "I don't need a babysitter, Alexander."
"This isn't negotiable." His tone was firm but not unkind. "Those reporters were just the beginning. Once the engagement party happens this weekend, public interest will intensify."
I sighed, knowing he was right but hating the further restriction on my freedom. "Fine. But I want to be able to visit my father and sister without an entourage."
"Your security detail will be discreet." Alexander sat in the armchair across from me, studying me over the rim of his glass. "I've also launched an investigation into the information leak."
"Do you think it was Victoria?"
"She's a suspect, but not the only one." He set his glass down, leaning forward slightly. "My uncle Richard has more resources and greater motivation to disrupt my plans."
"Your inheritance," I murmured, remembering the terms that had led to our arrangement. "If our marriage is discredited..."
"He gains control of Blackwood International," Alexander finished. "A prize he's coveted for decades."
The magnitude of what was at stake struck me anew. This wasn't just about Alexander's inheritance or my family's financial salvation. An entire company—thousands of jobs, billions in assets—hung in the balance of our pretend relationship.
"What can I do?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.
Alexander looked equally surprised. "You want to help?"
"These people attacked my family today," I said, straightening. "Made insinuations about my father. Yes, I want to help."
Something like respect flickered in his eyes. "Be vigilant. Trust no one outside this apartment with details about our relationship or your family. And..." he hesitated, uncharacteristically uncertain. "Stay close to me in public. The more convincing we appear, the less ammunition they have."
"I can do that," I agreed, though the thought of increased physical proximity to Alexander sent a confusing ripple of both anxiety and anticipation through me.
He rose, moving to sit beside me on the sofa—close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the subtle notes of his cologne mingled with the scotch on his breath.
"There's something else," he said, his voice lower now. "Something I should have mentioned earlier."
The serious tone made my heart skip. "What is it?"
"The engagement party this weekend. My grandmother has certain... expectations about how we'll present ourselves."
"What kind of expectations?"
His eyes met mine, holding them with an intensity that made my breath catch. "She'll be watching for signs of genuine affection. Physical comfort with each other."
"You mean..." I trailed off, suddenly very aware of how close he was sitting.
"Nothing inappropriate," he clarified quickly. "But we'll need to appear comfortable with casual touches. Intimate gestures."
"Like at the gala," I said, remembering his hand at my back, the way he'd looked at me for the benefit of others.
"More convincing than that." His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. "We should practice. So it appears natural."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Practice?"
Instead of answering, Alexander slowly raised his hand to my face, giving me time to pull away. When I remained still, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my cheek in a touch so light it was barely there.
Yet my skin burned where he'd touched me, a flush of heat spreading across my face. I couldn't look away from his eyes—storm-gray and suddenly intense with something I couldn't name.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. This was just practice, I reminded myself. Part of our arrangement. The flutter in my stomach meant nothing.
As he leaned closer, I realized with sudden clarity that this was supposed to be a business arrangement—clean, professional, emotionally detached.
So why did my body react to Alexander's proximity as if he were actually my fiancé? And more disturbingly, why did part of me wish, just for a moment, that the pretense could be real?
I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks, reality crashing back. This was exactly what I couldn't afford to feel. Alexander Blackwood was a businessman executing a contract. In less than a year, our arrangement would end, and I would walk away with my payment.
Developing genuine feelings would be the worst mistake I could make.
Yet as I pulled away slightly, I couldn't forget the look in his eyes—a look that suggested Alexander might be fighting the same dangerous battle against unwanted attraction.
And I wasn't sure if that made things better or infinitely worse.
