LOGINRUBY'S POV
Up close, Alexander Ray was even more attractive than he looked in pictures. It was almost unfair. As the music shifted to a slow, sweeping melody, he began walking toward me. It was time for our first dance. He moved with an effortless, striking grace. He seemed to act gently as he took my hand, but I wasn't fooled; it was probably just an act for the hundreds of cameras flashing around the ballroom. He slid his free hand around my waist, his long fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress, and pulled me closer. Instantly, I was hit by his scent. It was a rich, masculine musk that practically screamed old money and expensive woodsmoke. My breath hitched. I looked up, but his blue eyes were so incredibly bright and expressive that I instantly panicked. Whoa. I couldn't look him in the eye. It felt like he was looking right through me. "You can relax, Ruby," he finally spoke, his deep baritone cutting through the fog in my head. "I'm your husband now." "I am relaxed," I shot back automatically, trying to sound sophisticated. A tiny, amused smirk played on his lips. "Then why are you staring at my chest and not looking at me?" "Because you were not looking at me either," I replied, lifting my chin defensively. "Hm. Fair enough," he murmured. We went quiet for a while, the silence stretching between us as we swayed to the music. Just when I thought the tension would choke me, I felt the brush of his fingers against my jaw. His touch was surprisingly warm as he gently tilted my head up, forcing me to hold eye contact with him. He didn't say a single word. He just stared into my green eyes with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs. Before I could decipher what that look meant, the music faded. The dance was over. Alex dropped his hands, gave me a polite, distant nod, and walked away. I stood there on the dance floor, trying to catch my breath. But before I could even process my first interaction with my new husband, a tall, dark-haired guy with piercing grey eyes stepped forward. He was at least 6'2 and looked like he belonged on a European runway. Seriously, did someone open the gate for the gods to enter today? Because d*mn. "May I have this dance?" he asked, offering a charming smile. "I'm James Ray," he introduced himself as he led me into a slow step. "Cousin to the groom." "I'm Ruby Bells. The bride to the groom," I replied, my natural talkative nature slipping out now that the heavy pressure of Alex was gone. James burst out laughing. "Good one. So, how are you enjoying your wedding?" "I think the guests enjoy weddings more," I admitted, looking around the glamorous ballroom. "I don't even know half of the people here, and I've been smiling and showing appreciation to them all day. My face muscles are literally begging for mercy." He laughed again, his grey eyes crinkling. "The best part of a wedding is the drinks, you know. The alcohol, to be precise. And the women." I let out a genuine laugh. "Oh, I don't drink. But the women? I might have to agree with you on that. If I wasn't straight, I probably would have gone home with three of them by now." James lost it, his shoulders shaking. "You are funny. Alex is going to have so much fun with you." I snorted, thinking back to the stone-faced statue I had just danced with. "I don't think 'fun' and 'Alex' go together. He seems very uptight." "Oh, that's just an act," James said, his smile turning a bit mysterious. "Just be you, Ruby. You'll see." He gave my hand a warm squeeze as the song ended. "Congratulations, by the way." "Thank you, James," I smiled, genuinely grateful for the breath of fresh air. As he walked away, I stepped off the dance floor, desperately needing a quiet sanctuary. I just wished I wasn't the bride so I could slip out the back door and go home. I started navigating the grand hallways of the venue, looking for one of the empty VIP holding rooms to hide in. Instead, I ran right into a familiar face. "Escaping already?" Chloe asked, leaning against the wall with a glass of champagne in her hand. Her shiny blonde hair was perfectly styled, and her brown eyes swept over me with a familiar, critical gaze. "You know, thousands of girls would literally die to be in your position right now, and you're acting like it's an issue. Drop the act." I suppressed a sigh. Yeah, I forgot to mention. My sister, Chloe, is a twenty-two-year-old spoiled, rude b*tch. If we weren't family, we would most likely hate each other's guts. We don't see eye-to-eye on a single thing, and at best, we just try to co-exist without burning the house down. "Well, I would gladly trade places with most of those girls," I replied, crossing my arms over my white dress. "But I guess that's why they weren't chosen." Chloe rolled her eyes, taking a slow sip of her drink. "You look good. Mum sends her greetings, by the way." I frowned, looking past her. "Mum's not here? Why?" "She had to get her nails done," Chloe answered carelessly. A sharp, familiar pang of hurt sliced through my chest. Ah. Of course she does. Each time I dared to forget that I was adopted, my mum, Mia Bells, always found a way to remind me. Who on earth uses a manicure as a legitimate reason to skip their own child's wedding reception? "Tell her thanks," I replied to Chloe, my voice turning completely cold as I turned on my heel and walked away. I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to ruin my makeup. This day just couldn't get any worse.The walk-in closet in the penthouse was a sprawling, marble-floored cavern, and though I had spent weeks navigating its glass-encased shelves, tonight it felt entirely foreign. The sheer abundance of designer velvet, wool, and diamonds felt less like a luxury and more like a row of uniforms for a war I hadn’t fully prepared to fight. I stood in the center of the room, clad only in a lace slip, my ginger hair already pinned up into a sleek, sophisticated twist that left the long line of my neck completely bare. My green eyes scanned the racks, completely paralyzed. Saturday night. Dinner at the Ray estate. Facing Eleanor Ray. A soft rustle of fabric cut through my panic. I turned to see Alexander leaning against the dark mahogany archway of the closet. He looked utterly devastating, dropping his usual dark colors for a sharp, midnight-navy bespoke tuxedo. The deep blue of the wool caught the light, making his eyes look piercingly bright, almost electric. The crisp white shirt ben
Ruby’s POV Thursday morning arrived without the typical screaming headlines or frantic calls from the Ray family legal team. In fact, the penthouse was eerily, beautifully quiet. I walked into the kitchen, stretching my arms over my head, my loose ginger curls tumbling over the shoulders of an oversized gray silk button-down. I expected the usual sight: Alexander buried in three different laptops, his blonde hair slicked back, looking like a corporate machine. Instead, he was leaning against the marble island, casually scrolling through his phone. He had dropped the stiff billionaire uniform completely. He wore a heavy, charcoal-grey cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the sharp lines of his wrists, paired with dark, relaxed jeans. When he heard my bare feet against the heated floor, his blue eyes flicked up. A slow, incredibly handsome smirk spread across his face, his gaze tracking me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. "Morning,
Ruby’s POV The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the penthouse, casting long, pale shadows across the marble kitchen island. I sat on a high stool, nursing a cup of black coffee, completely unbothered by the chaos unfolding on my tablet screen. Every major high-society blog in New York had screenshots of Victoria’s scandalous masterpiece side-by-side with my icy, emerald-dressed gallery smile. The headlines were spectacular. Alexander burst into the room like a localized hurricane, his blonde hair slightly messy, his blue eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep. He had his phone pinned to his ear, his voice a low, furious hiss. "...I don't care what the PR firm says, kill the story. Throw money at Page Six. Do your job." He slammed the phone down on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he looked at me. "The crisis team is downstairs, Ruby. They’re setting up a press release. We need to handle this statement together, right now, before—" "Cancel it,"
Ruby’s POV The atmosphere inside the Fifth Avenue art gallery was choked with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy lilies, and the suffocating pretense of Manhattan’s elite. The gallery itself was a monument to old money structural design—soaring twenty-foot ceilings, polished white concrete floors that reflected the low, moody lighting, and towering glass panels looking out over a rainy Manhattan skyline. Hundreds of New York’s top collectors, investors, and high-society bloggers drifted through the space, their diamonds catching the sharp track lighting above. Alexander and I stood near the center sculpture, the absolute epitome of a united front. He looked breathtakingly sharp in a bespoke black Tom Ford tuxedo that contrasted vividly with his striking blue eyes and perfectly styled blonde hair. His large hand rested firmly on the small of my back, casting a protective, heavy warmth through the silk of my gown. I had gone for pure, high-fashion defiance tonight: an eme
Mia Bells’ POV The humidity of the New York midnight clung to the tinted windows of the Maybach parked in the shadow of an industrial pier on the Hudson River. Inside, the only light came from the dim glow of the dashboard. Mia Bells sat perfectly straight, her sharp chin tilted up, her tailored cream silk coat draped over her shoulders. At fifty-four, she had spent decades navigating the volatile currents of Manhattan’s elite. She knew exactly what it took to keep an empire standing, and more importantly, what it took to keep it from burning down. The rear door clicked open, bringing in a rush of cold river air. A middle-aged man in a wrinkled dark suit slipped inside, breathing heavily. He looked frantic, his eyes darting to the front where Mia’s driver sat, unmoving as a statue. "Do you have it?" Mia’s voice was smooth, devoid of any warmth, slicing through the quiet car. The man reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick, legal-sized manila envelope, his hands trem
Ruby’s POV The air inside the abandoned warehouse district on the outskirts of Chicago smelled of rust, old rain, and impending victory. Chloe had selected the location—a sterile, concrete loft space currently under development by a Bells subsidiary. It was completely private, entirely secure, and far away from the prying eyes of the Magnificent Mile. Outside, the cold Midwestern wind howled against the reinforced glass windows, but inside, the tension was thick enough to suffocate. I paced the length of the concrete floor, the heavy soles of my designer leather boots echoing sharply against the space. I had traded my regal Manhattan silks for a sharp, tailored black trench coat, my ginger curls pulled back into a sleek, severe ponytail. Behind me, Chloe sat at a temporary metal desk, her fingers flying across the keys of her encrypted laptop, her icy blue eyes scanning lines of digital data. Allie Grace stood near the reinforced door, a half-eaten bag of artisanal chips in on







