Chapter 006

Alexander's POV

I nursed the glass of whiskey in my hand, watching my phone screen light up with Morgan's message: [I'm at the airport. Say one word, and I won't board.]

Did she really think I would fall for this act again? Morgan had always been a master of emotional manipulation, threatening to leave when she wanted attention. This time, she'd even gone so far as to draw up divorce papers. But she wouldn't actually leave—she never did. She understood that my presence was necessary for Olivia's recovery. Or at least, she should.

I was surprised when she actually handed me those divorce papers today. The idea of divorce unsettled me—not because of any emotional attachment, but because of the PR nightmare it would create. I don't love her; we all know that—Olivia, Morgan, and I. Reynolds Media Group was about to announce a major partnership with Montgomery Productions. A public divorce would be disastrous for our stock prices.

But now Morgan was back at the Montgomery mansion, without her suitcase. Her "performance" was over. Today's test results confirmed that Olivia's treatment had been successful. After years of uncertainty, she would finally be able to live a normal life. The thought brought a rare smile to my face.

"You're looking pleased with yourself," Olivia purred, sliding into the chair across from me. She looked radiant tonight, her golden hair artfully styled to emphasize her recovery, her dress cut low enough to draw attention from several industry executives nearby. She crossed her legs deliberately, making sure I noticed.

"Just thinking about your test results," I replied, allowing myself to appreciate the view.

Olivia's crimson lips curved into a smug smile. "For a moment, I really thought she was going to leave... You won the bet." She lifted her champagne flute in mock toast. "Too bad. I was looking forward to finally getting you all to myself."

She'd seen Morgan's text. Olivia and I had wagered on whether Morgan would actually go through with her threats this time.

"Was it terrible?" Olivia asked, leaning forward to give me a better view of her cleavage. "Hoping your wife might finally disappear from our lives?"

"No," I said honestly, drawn into her game. "Morgan has always known what our arrangement was about. She used your life as a bargaining chip to get the marriage she wanted. If she had helped you unconditionally instead, things might have been different."

"Oh please," Olivia scoffed, rolling her eyes as she reached for her champagne. "She's been playing the martyr for years. Poor Morgan, forced to save my life. As if she didn't get exactly what she wanted—your last name and your bank account." She ran her tongue along the rim of her glass. "Are you staying tonight? You've had quite a bit to drink."

The invitation was unmistakable.

I checked my watch. "Morgan can drive if she doesn't make a scene. She went through the trouble of preparing divorce papers this time, but I'm sure she'll come around. Robert probably offered her that screenplay development deal she's been chasing. That usually does the trick with her." This is a form of implicit rejection, which has surfaced many times in my conversations with Olivia. Despite my love for her, I believe in it. However, considering the potential scandals and stock prices, I feel that I can make these sacrifices.

Olivia's gaze dropped to my wrist, and her smile faded into a petulant frown. "That's the watch she gave you, isn't it? God, you're still wearing it?" She reached out and grabbed my wrist possessively. "When are you going to throw that thing away?"

I glanced down at the timepiece. It wasn't just any watch. Morgan had "accidentally" damaged the one Olivia had given me and replaced it with this one. I'd always disliked how she marked me as her territory through these gestures.

"Yes," I replied, a flash of annoyance crossing my face. "I should have replaced it by now. It's a reminder of how she tries to stake her claim."

"She's been in Robert's study for a while," Olivia said, sliding her foot up my calf under the table. Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Daddy's probably offering her some consolation prize. Your wife is so pathetically predictable—wave a screenplay in front of her and she forgets all about her dignity."

I shrugged, wondering the same thing myself. Robert wasn't known for his patience, and Morgan had a talent for pushing people's buttons. I could already anticipate the argument we'd have on the drive home.

"Morgan's like a cat," I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "When she's angry, she claws the furniture. When she's really angry, she buys me presents. With my money."

"And what am I in this metaphor?" Olivia asked, biting her lower lip suggestively. She leaned forward, trailing her fingers up my arm. "Something much more dangerous and exciting, I hope."

I was about to answer when a loud crash and the sound of shattering glass came from Robert's study. The guests near us turned in surprise, murmuring among themselves.

I straightened my suit jacket and stood up. This was exactly what I didn't need—a public scene that could damage our corporate image right before the partnership announcement.

"Excuse me," I said as I made my way through the crowd, politely nodding to the industry executives who tried to engage me in conversation.

By the time I reached Robert's study, my patience was wearing thin. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open without bothering to knock. I had more pressing concerns than social formalities.

What I saw froze the blood in my veins. Morgan was sprawled on the hardwood floor, her hair disheveled and one hand pressed against her reddening cheek. Around her lay the shattered remains of Robert's prized vase—a museum-quality piece worth millions. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her lip. Robert stood over her, his hand still half-raised, face contorted with a rage I'd never seen before. Catherine stood paralyzed in the doorway, her teacup trembling in her hands, horror etched across her face.

For a split second, I couldn't process what I was seeing. Robert Montgomery—Hollywood's most calculated power player—had actually struck Morgan. A woman, and technically still my wife.

"What the hell happened here?" I demanded, my voice sharp with irritation. Despite everything, seeing Morgan on the floor like that triggered something territorial in me. Nobody damages what belongs to me—not even Robert Montgomery.

Morgan's head snapped up at the sound of my voice. Our eyes locked, and I felt a physical shock run through me. Her initial surprise quickly transformed into something I'd never witnessed in her before—a bone-chilling, icy fury that seemed to radiate from her very core. Gone was any trace of the accommodating woman who had bent to my will for five years. Her gaze was filled with such intense, betrayed hatred that it cut through me, causing me to instinctively take a step back.