Alice turned sharply on her heels, her movements crisp and deliberate. Clayton followed close behind, his arms clasped tightly behind his back, steeling himself for damage control.

He reached out, grabbing her hand. She whipped her head around, her glare cutting into him as she wrenched her hand free.

The sting of rejection was instant.

Tears streaked down Alice's cheeks as she halted at the top of the stairs. Behind Clayton stood Ruth and Daniel, their silent judgment bearing down on him like a weight he couldn't escape. His palms grew clammy with tension.

Helena doesn't mean anything! The words raged in Clayton's mind, caged and desperate to escape.

"Allie, it didn't mean anything. Honest," he said, his voice raw as he searched her face for a sign—any sign.

"Clayton! Abruti!" she snapped, frustration lacing her every syllable as she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Her anger radiated in waves, and Clayton could feel his world unraveling.

Shit! I've royally screwed this up, he admitted silently, the realization settling like a stone in his chest.

He watched helplessly as Alice stormed down the stairs, Ruth at her side, arm wrapped protectively around her. Clayton leaned heavily against the bannister, breath coming in sharp bursts as he tried to center himself.

"When did they become best friends?" he muttered under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead.

Daniel's voice finally cut through the silence, his tone unusually sharp. "What the hell was that back there?"

Clayton sighed, taking a deeper, trembling breath. "I don't know. Helena and I... we've got a screwed-up history. She's—she's an ex. Sort of."

Daniel's expression hardened. "An ex who tried to kill you? And is probably tangled up with Philip and Vanessa now? When did he start collecting groupies?"

"Fucking Charles Manson wannabe-whores," Clayton hissed, his anger flaring. "Pathetic, stupid..."

His words trailed off as he noticed Daniel fidgeting with a thin gold band on his left hand. Clayton blinked, realization dawning.

"Wait. Holy crap. Is that a wedding ring?" His voice shot up, the anger dissipating in an instant.

Daniel flushed slightly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. It's—I mean, it happened back in December. Just before we visited Alice in the hospital. Just us, no big ceremony. Josephine wasn't thrilled about it, but Ruth and I wanted to keep it private for now—at least until the rings were done."

Clayton grinned, pulling him into an uncharacteristic hug. "Welcome to the family, Mr. Reyes. Congratulations, man."

Daniel returned the smile, but it quickly morphed into a more serious expression. "Seriously though, Clayton. Fix this. Apologize to Alice. She didn't deserve that mess. None of it."

Clayton nodded, the weight of Daniel's words pressing heavily on him. Together, they headed back down the stairs toward their waiting partners. He offered Ruth a quiet congratulations, spotting the matching band on her finger. Her smile was soft, radiant, and he gave her a brief, rare hug.

***

On the car ride home, Alice was unreadable. She stared out the window, her jade-colored eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Clayton pulled her close, resting her head against his chest. He kissed her hairline gently, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo.

Still, she said nothing.

Once inside the house, Alice wandered through the living room and into the bedroom. Clayton followed silently, his anxiety climbing as he watched her glance toward him every so often.

"This is our room," Clayton said softly, his voice almost hesitant. "Bathroom's on the right, next to the kitchen."

He sat down beside her, his hand resting on her thigh. "Allie?"

Her eyes flickered, barely meeting his. The silence stretched painfully between them. When she finally spoke, her words were a sharp blade.

"Do you love her? Do you want to be with her instead of me?"

Clayton's grip on her hand tightened instinctively. "No," he said, his voice unwavering. "I love you. Only you."

Alice let out a heavy sigh, her emotions laid bare as he studied the rise and fall of her chest. She looked at him, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.

"Clayton, don't ever do that again," she said quietly, yet firmly. "I'm not just some girlfriend. I'm not one of your whores. I'm your fiancée—soon to be your wife."

Her words cut straight to his core, Clayton leaned in, kissing her neck gently, tracing her collarbone with his lips. His hand brushed her leg as he lowered her onto the mattress.

Just as the moment began to ease, the loud vibration of his phone shattered the moment. Clayton groaned, rolling onto his elbow to answer it, his eyes still fixed on Alice.

Carlos's voice came through the line. "Party tonight. Bring Alice. Seven-thirty. Black tie."

Clayton hesitated, the prospect of a distraction flickering in his mind. "Alright. I'll see you then."

He hung up, placing the phone aside. "Want to go to a party?" he asked, forcing a hopeful smile.

"Fine," Alice said, her tone monotone, unreadable.

He pulled her close again, kissing her neck. "I want to shower," Alice whispered, slipping from his embrace. Clayton watched her retreat toward the bathroom, knowing he'd have to tread carefully tonight.

***

Clayton stood before the bathroom mirror, his tuxedo feeling more like a straitjacket than formalwear. His fingers fumbled with the tie, frustration etched across his face.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, the pressure mounting.

He could handle the chaos of crime and corruption, but a tie? That was his Achilles' heel.

Alice's voice broke through his struggle, soft yet tinged with tension. "Need a hand?"

He turned to see her, and for a moment, the world stopped. She wore a soft lilac dress that shimmered like twilight, its backless design held by delicate pearl-studded straps. Her hair cascaded in waves, and her heels gave her an air of elegance that left him breathless.

Clayton's pulse quickened as Alice stepped closer, her fingers deftly fixing his tie. He fought the urge to pull her into his arms, every fiber of his being wanting her.

"All set," she whispered, her hands lingering at his neck. Then, with a daring smile, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in a kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, her perfume overwhelming.

"Alice," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. But she silenced him with a finger to his lips, her smile teasing.

She turned and walked away, her confidence leaving him rooted in place, watching her with a mix of awe and longing.

Later, as they prepared to leave, Ruth and Daniel exchanged silent arguments in the kitchen. Clayton couldn't help but agree with Daniel—Ruth wasn't exactly the life of the party. Still, she watched them leave with a grudging expression, leaning against the doorframe as the Jeep disappeared into the night.

***

The massive steel gates groaned as they swung open, granting access to the sleek line of cars. Clayton stepped out of the front seat, his movements smooth and deliberate as he walked around to open the back door for Alice. She placed her hand in his, her grip firm but her smile uncertain, conscious of the guests whose gazes lingered a little too long.

Instinctively, Alice moved closer to him as they approached the towering doors framed by a scarlet carpet that stretched endlessly before them. Clayton scanned the scene with practiced precision: thirteen guards on the ground, four snipers on the rooftop. And those were just the ones he could see. His unease about what awaited them inside only grew stronger.

"Sorry, I don't speak Portuguese, sir," Alice murmured, her cheeks tinged with an apologetic pink as she glanced up.

Clayton blinked, yanked out of his silent calculations and into the present. Carlos, in his black tie, regarded Alice with a raised brow.

"Français?" Carlos ventured, an air of polite disinterest barely masking his curiosity.

"Oui, mes grands-parents sont français. Enchanté," Alice replied fluently, her French as polished as her poised smile.

Clayton couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration as he watched Carlos's expression shift. The man clapped, clearly impressed. "Oh, this girl is charming."

"I know," Clayton said, his voice warm but steady as his gaze flicked to Alice. She flushed, a vibrant red that crept from her neck to her cheeks. He offered her his arm, and she looped hers through it as he guided her forward into the warehouse.

Inside, Clayton's grip on Alice tightened ever so slightly. His eyes met Daniel's at the back of the room, the faintest nod exchanged between them. From the corner of his eye, Clayton noticed the gilded monkey cage at the center of attention. Around it swirled a sea of socialites, their smiles concealing whispered schemes.

Clayton moved Alice subtly to the side, his posture shifting just enough to shield her as he let his unease simmer beneath the surface. Whatever this was, it was far more dangerous than it looked. And it already looked bad.

***

"It belonged to Isabella II of Spain," Carlos murmured, his voice a smooth blend of charm and unspoken menace. "Twenty-seven carats. Colombian emeralds, Spanish diamonds. Naturally. The set includes a Kokoshnik, drop earrings, and even a brooch." His grin stretched wide, fox-like, while the necklace in his hands sparkled, nearly as brightly as his eyes.

Alice hadn't intended to find herself talking to Carlos again, but Clayton had barely been gone a heartbeat before the man slithered into her orbit. The emerald necklace shimmered like bottled sunlight, casting a ghostly green glow on Alice's face as she glanced between the intricate Kokoshnik and her own engagement ring.

From across the room, Clayton saw her hesitation, caught the moment her mouth formed into a slight pout. Girls...

He smirked, masking the knot forming in his stomach, and surveyed the scene. A warehouse-turned-exhibition of Carlos's wealth, bristling with guards, while the elite mingled in glittering displays of diamonds, rubies, and gold. The room was a carousel of false smiles and whispered deals: the trophy wives, the mistresses, and even government officials cozied up with mobsters. Clayton swore he saw the minister of defense deep in conversation with Don Luis Juan Muñoz, Carlos's rival—a drug lord whose reputation was as smooth as his suits.

It was the kind of gathering that frayed nerves, and Clayton had every reason to feel his own unraveling.

"You could have the earrings and the necklace as a wedding gift," Carlos purred, his tone dripping with a smug benevolence that demanded gratitude. "On loan, of course. If I'm feeling magnanimous, I might even toss in the Kokoshnik and a few extra pieces for the maid of honor. We'll see."

Clayton snapped to attention as Alice gasped, her breath caught between shock and overwhelmed indecision. He stepped forward instinctively, his presence looming as Carlos waved his hand, dismissing them with effortless superiority. A guard turned to unlock the display case, light cascading off the emeralds in dazzling greens and whites.

"This is too much," Alice stammered, her voice trembling as Carlos's grin widened.

"I'm sure I'll get an invitation now. When's the wedding?" he inquired smoothly.

Alice accepted the gift reluctantly, her fingers tight enough to leave faint crescents in her own wrist as the oak box holding the jewels disappeared into the shadows.

"December thirty-first," she said, managing a nervous smile. "Massachusetts."

"Ah. I'll ensure the delivery by the twenty-sixth. You'll return it to me on the third. Have you planned a honeymoon yet?"

Shit. Clayton had forgotten about the honeymoon entirely.

His subconscious groaned in dismay as panic danced under his skin. He searched for ideas—Hawaii? Florida? Georgia?—but the faint creak of straining glass in his tightening grip warned him his discomfort might soon betray him.

"I might be able to assist with that as well, Mr. Miller," Carlos continued, unbothered by Clayton's silence. "Mustique Island and Santorini are charming at that time of year. Paris, of course, would be too cold for our radiant bride. I'll send you suggestions later." He turned toward Alice, his gaze settling on her engagement ring. "Let me see the ring."

Alice hesitated, her hand trembling as she raised it. Carlos's eyes narrowed in laser-focused inspection, rolling the band between his fingers.

"Pear-shaped diamond, solitaire. Mid-century, perhaps leaning toward Art Deco. Four carats, maybe four and a half. Family money, no doubt. Excellent taste, Mr. Miller. Truly flawless."

Clayton barely heard the appraisal. He was watching Alice, caught in a love-struck haze as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Carlos's voice dragged him back. "My sisters fought like wolves for those emeralds. I denied them, naturally. I believe Mr. Miller recalls that drama all too well."

Clayton gulped, his discomfort reemerging as Alice's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He turned toward the bar, avoiding her gaze, tequila calling his name.

Carlos had her surrounded by admirers. From the bar, Clayton felt a slow burn as socialites swarmed Alice, their faces hungry for jewels and rumors.

"You're right, ToyBox does remind me of her father," Daniel said, his voice cutting through Clayton's spiraling thoughts. He poured champagne into a flute with practiced ease, his tone casual but sharp.

It was true—terrifyingly so. Alice's movements, her easy magnetism, sparkled with the same finesse Richard Booth wielded in his heyday. Clayton buried his unease in another tequila.

"She could make waves in politics, if she tried," Daniel laughed.

"And I'd be her liability?" Clayton replied, wry amusement battling the storm behind his ribs.

Alice's gaze shifted toward them, catching their stares. Carlos was center stage now, his words commanding the room. Alice swayed toward Clayton, her presence soothing the jagged edges of his mood.

"Hi," she whispered, slipping her hand into his.

He traced her knuckles with his thumb, pressing a kiss against her neck. "Am I forgiven?" he murmured.

She flushed, her blush deepening as his voice softened.

"You look beautiful," he said, letting the words hang as she leaned into him, grounding his unease with her warmth.

"Just be with me," she whispered. "No one else. Just me."

Her mint-green eyes, magnetic and unyielding, pulled him in as he wrapped his arms around her. In that moment, the world ceased to exist—the speech, the jewels, the crowd melting away as they stood locked in the quiet of their own bubble.

"I love you," he whispered against her hair, his voice tender.

Alice flushed pink, leaning closer still, while Carlos's voice carried on in the background, unnoticed.

***

It was past midnight, and the chaos of the evening had finally quieted. Alice rested her head on Clayton's shoulder, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion claimed her. His jacket dwarfed her frame, cocooning her as she sat silently. 

Both Clayton and Daniel had loosened their ties, the remnants of the party still clinging to them. Around them, the drunken crowd thinned out, retreating into the night. 

Then—his phone vibrated, the sudden noise breaking through the low hum of the evening. Clayton glanced down, thumb hovering over the screen before unlocking it. 

Claudia: "Clayton, I need you to know—the baby, it's not yours."

Something in him stilled. He read the words again, as if expecting them to change, as if bracing for some aftershock that never came. Relief didn't hit in a single breath—it seeped in slowly, hesitant at first, then settling deep in his chest. A quiet weight lifting, uncoiling from his ribs. 

His fingers tightened around the phone before easing, before his whole frame exhaled. His grip on Alice softened, his shoulders loosening, the ghost of tension finally slipping from his muscles.

Daniel noticed. His gaze flicked to Clayton's phone, then to his face. He didn't need to ask. Instead, he smirked, voice low and knowing. "Well. I'd drink to that." He swirled what little remained in his glass, then downed it, sealing the moment with the burn of alcohol. 

Clayton said nothing. The night still smelled of whiskey and remnants of cheap cologne, of party sweat and laughter that had faded into memory. But here—now—Alice curled against him, unaware, and the weight of a complicated future he had feared slipped quietly, finally, away.

"Come on, babe. Let's go to bed," he whispered, coaxing her awake. Her lashes fluttered, and he added with a smirk, "To sleep."

Helping her to her feet, he kept his arm around her protectively as they moved toward the car, guided by the warehouse lights. Alice slid into the backseat, Daniel already at the wheel, ready to drive them home.

Something pulled at Clayton—an itch he couldn't ignore. Glancing back toward the entrance, he froze. The hair on his neck bristled as his gaze locked onto them.

Helena, Vanessa, and—damn it—Martha. They stood together, silhouettes stark against the light. Their matching gold jewelry glinted, eerie and deliberate, like the twins from The Shining.

Helena waved, all flirtation, while Martha's steely glare pierced him, hand pressing on her barley noticeable bump. They stood flanking Carlos, with Vanessa throwing him a sharp, tilted smirk.

Clayton's vision tinged with red as his temper flared, his feet moving before he could think. Vanessa's narrowed eyes fixed on him, a silent challenge. Then came the cold press of metal against his temple.

"Clayton!" Alice's scream shattered the quiet. Her hands slammed against the car window, her eyes wide with panic.

Clayton didn't dare move. His hands rose instinctively, the voice behind him calm but dangerous.

"Don't, Touro. Unless you want your wife to see your brains painting the hood of your car."

He cursed silently, his mind racing. Daniel hadn't fared better—frozen in place with a gun aimed at his head.

Carlos stepped forward, his tone light but his words laced with menace. "It's not personal, Clayton. Philip has offered a deal. Alice will be safe under my protection, but your friends? Not so much, unless Richard surfaces. Maybe it's time to go home. Ruth might need your help."

The implication landed like a punch to the gut. Clayton gritted his teeth, the helplessness swallowing him whole.