TABOO A DEAL WITH THE SHADOW ALPHA

ADDISON

Two days left. The deal I'd made in that stalled elevator felt less like a rescue and more like a dream I'd stupidly believed. Maybe he'd been oxygen-deprived and just agreed to get me to stop talking. Maybe I had been too open to him, I mean what kind of girl tells a man she just met almost everything about herself. Maybe Axel Rex had already forgotten I existed.

I was staring into the hopeless abyss of my coffee cup when the intercom buzzed, sharp and insistent. My heart jumped. I walked over, my bare feet cold on the floor. "Yes?"

"Package for you, Ms. Amber. From Mr. Rex's office."

The world tilted. I managed to mutter a "thank you," and leaned against the wall, my legs suddenly weak.

A moment later, my doorman was placing a long, elegant white box in my hands. It was heavy. I carried it to my dining table like it might explode, my fingers trembling as I lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper as black as midnight, were flowers. But not just any flowers. They were the most dramatic, dangerous-looking flowers I had ever seen. Deep, blood-red roses, so dark they were almost black, mixed with strange, elegant black lilies that looked like they'd been grown in moonlight. There was no sweet, gentle scent. It was something richer, spicier. It smelled like power.

There was a simple, thick card nestled among the stems. No handwritten note. Just crisp, typed words.

Our first public appearance is tonight.

The Vanguard Charity Gala.

A car will collect you at 7 PM.

Wear something that makes you feel powerful.

- A.R.

Tonight. It was happening. Tonight.

The panic morphed into a different, more frantic energy. I snatched my phone and called the only person who could handle this.

"Jules," I breathed the second she answered. "Code red. I need you. Now."

An hour later, my bedroom looked like a tornado had hit a very expensive boutique. Dresses were flung across my bed, my chairs, the floor. Silk, satin, sequins-a rainbow of desperation.

"Powerful, he says," Jules muttered, holding up a slinky silver dress. "What does that even mean? CEO powerful or assassin powerful?"

"I don't know!" I wailed, pulling a pale pink gown over my head. "It's Axel Rex. It probably means 'don't embarrass me.'"

I looked in the mirror. The pink was soft, pretty. It was the kind of dress my mother would approve of. It made me look like a piece of expensive candy.

"No," Jules said, reading my mind. "That's 'controlled' powerful. He didn't say controlled. He said powerful." She dove back into the pile and emerged with a garment bag I'd forgotten about. She unzipped it with a dramatic flourish.

Inside was a dress I'd bought on a whim and never had the courage to wear. It was a deep emerald green, the exact color of his eyes. It was sleeveless, with a high neckline that was both modest and severe, but the back was completely open, dipping low. The fabric was heavy, liquid silk that clung in a way that was both elegant and a little bit dangerous.

"This one," Jules declared.

I put it on. I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn't the scared girl from the dinner table or the panicked mess in the elevator. She was someone else. Someone who belonged on the arm of a man like Axel Rex.

"Yeah," I whispered. "This one."

---

The black McLaren car was silent and smooth as a shark. By the time we pulled up to the museum where the gala was being held, my hands were ice-cold. The red carpet was a blur of flashing lights and shouted questions. I fixed my model smile in place, a mask I knew how to wear.

Then I felt a hand on the small of my back.

I jumped, turning to find him there. Axel. In a tuxedo that was clearly not rented, but forged onto his body. His eyes did a quick, head-to-toe sweep of me, pausing for a fraction of a second on the green of my dress. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

"You look... appropriate," he said, his voice low.

It wasn't a compliment, not really. But from him, it felt like one. "Thank you," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "So do you."

He kept his hand on my back as we walked, a firm, warm pressure that felt less like an affection and more like a brand. A claim. He didn't stop for the press, didn't smile. He just moved through the crowd, and it parted for him like the Red Sea.

Inside, the gala was a whirl of champagne and diamonds. He introduced me to people, his tone always the same. "This is Addison Amber." Not "my girlfriend." Not "my date." Just my name, with a weight behind it that made people pay attention.

For a little while, I almost forgot it was fake. The way he'd lean down to hear me over the music, the way his hand never left my back or arm. It felt real. And that was the most dangerous part.

Then I saw him. Feign Paxton. He was standing near the bar, his face like thunder, a glass of whiskey clenched in his hand. Our eyes met across the room, and the hatred in his was a physical force.

I instinctively flinched, my step faltering. Axel's hand tightened on my back instantly.

"Addison," Feign spat, stepping into our path. He was already a little drunk. "Moving up in the world, I see. Or just trading one controller for another?"

Before I could form a word, Axel shifted slightly, putting his body subtly between me and Feign. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

"Paxton," Axel said, the single word dripping with frost. "You're in our way."

Feign, emboldened by alcohol, puffed out his chest. "I was just talking to my ex-girlfriend."

"She is not your anything," Axel replied, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, yet it cut through the party noise. "And if you value your business, and your health, you will turn around and walk away. Now."

The threat wasn't loud or dramatic. It was absolute. I saw the color drain from Feign's face. He looked from Axel's cold, dead-eyed expression to me, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes. He muttered something under his breath and stumbled back, disappearing into the crowd.

Axel turned back to me, his hand returning to my back. "Shall we?" he asked, as if he'd just commented on the weather.

In that moment, surrounded by a hundred people, I felt completely alone with him. The noise of the party faded into a distant hum. All I could see were his green eyes, all I could feel was the solid, terrifying warmth of his hand. He wasn't just playing a part. He was like a king, and he'd just defended his territory. And for a terrifying, thrilling second, I was glad to be in it.