Reborn Heiress: The Wall Street Titan's Bride

Alaia shoved the phone back into the actress's chest. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. To everyone watching, she looked like a woman whose entire world had just collapsed.

Suddenly, the side doors of the banquet hall were violently thrown open.

Austen stormed into the room. His hair was a mess, his tie hung loose around his neck, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He looked feral.

His wild eyes scanned the room and instantly locked onto Alaia standing in the center of the crowd. A flash of panic and pure rage crossed his face. He marched toward her, his heavy footsteps echoing over the whispers.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Camera flashes erupted from the dark corners of the room as hidden paparazzi documented the meltdown.

Austen reached Alaia and grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug into her delicate skin with bruising force, feeling like a steel vice trying to snap her bones. He yanked her forward, trying to drag her away from the audience.

Alaia let out a sharp gasp of pain, her brow furrowing. She let her body stumble weakly against his pull, playing the fragile victim perfectly.

"Did you do this?" Austen hissed in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Did you set me up, you crazy bitch?"

Evelyn jogged into the hall right behind him. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked like a terrified deer, desperately trying to garner sympathy from the staring elites.

Austen dragged Alaia out through the side doors and onto a secluded, private balcony. He slammed the heavy glass door shut behind them, cutting off the noise and the prying eyes of the banquet hall.

He shoved Alaia backward. Her lower back slammed hard against the cold marble balustrade. A sharp, piercing pain shot up her spine.

Alaia dropped her hands from her face. The tears were gone. She lifted her chin and stared at the man who had ordered her heart cut out in her past life. Her eyes were as cold and dead as a graveyard.

Austen froze for a fraction of a second, unsettled by the sheer emptiness in her gaze. But his panic quickly morphed back into rage.

"Who did you hire to film that?" he roared, stepping into her space.

Evelyn rushed forward, grabbing Alaia's arm. "Alaia, please," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We're in love. Please, you have to tell the press it's a misunderstanding."

Alaia looked down at Evelyn's tear-stained, hypocritical face. The memory of her chest being sliced open flared in her mind. Her blood boiled.

She didn't say a word. She just raised her right hand.

Smack.

The sound cracked like a whip in the night air. Alaia put her entire body weight into the slap, striking Evelyn across the left cheek. The force threw Evelyn's head to the side.

Evelyn let out a high-pitched scream and stumbled back, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek. She stared at Alaia in pure shock, a flash of genuine malice breaking through her innocent facade.

Austen's eyes bulged. "You bitch!" he bellowed. He shielded Evelyn with his body, pulled his arm back, and aimed a closed fist straight at Alaia's face.

Alaia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She stared right at his incoming fist, already calculating how much she could sue him for the assault.

The fist was one inch from her nose.

Suddenly, a large, masculine hand shot out from the shadows. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around Austen's wrist, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. The glint of a Patek Philippe watch caught the moonlight.

Austen grunted, trying to pull his arm back, but the grip was like iron. He couldn't move an inch. He snapped his head around, ready to curse out whoever was interfering.

His eyes met a pair of deep, icy blue eyes.

The man stepping out of the shadows wore a perfectly tailored, bespoke black suit. His aura was suffocating, radiating a terrifying, predatory coldness. It was Gabriel Alvarado, the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street.

The air on the balcony instantly froze. Austen's aggressive posture crumbled the second he recognized the man holding his wrist.

"M-Mr. Alvarado," Austen stuttered, the color draining from his face.

Gabriel looked at Austen's wrist with utter disgust. He released his grip, shoving Austen's arm away as if he were discarding a piece of trash. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers.

Alaia leaned against the marble railing. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the Wall Street titan. She had only ever seen him in financial magazines in her past life.

Gabriel didn't even look at Austen. His piercing gaze dropped to Evelyn, who was still cowering on the floor, holding her cheek.

Evelyn was trembling violently. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She forgot to cry, looking up at Austen in sheer panic.

Gabriel's lips parted. His voice was low, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Well," Gabriel said, the word slicing through the tension. "If it isn't my shameless fiancée."

The words hit the balcony like a bomb. Austen's jaw dropped. He whipped his head toward Evelyn, his eyes wide with absolute betrayal. He clearly had no idea.

Alaia's eyes widened slightly. Evelyn had hidden her tracks perfectly in the past life. Alaia had never known Evelyn was engaged to the Alvarado empire.

Gabriel finally turned his head. His icy blue eyes locked onto Alaia. For a split second, a flicker of dark amusement and intense calculation flashed in his gaze.