Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of Betrayal
The heavy silence inside the master suite grew so profound that the hum of the electronic security panels across the hallway sounded like a roaring engine. Noah didn't pull away from my grip immediately, but his muscles tightened under his suit jacket like coiled steel.
“That’s a serious accusation, Mrs. Cross,” Noah said, his voice dropping into a flat, professional register that gave nothing away. “Mr. Cross has a very tight security protocol. Nobody talks outside the circle.”
“Moretti knew details about the paperwork that only our attorney and the people in that room knew,” I countered, ignoring the chill seeping from my wet clothes as I stood up to face him. “Dorian hasn’t been sleeping at home for six months, Noah. He’s been buried in ledger sheets and corporate defense because someone is leaking his moves. And if Moretti knows about our marriage ending, it means the leak isn't just an accountant in downtown Chicago—it’s someone standing right here in this house.”
Before Noah could respond, the double doors of the suite swung open.
Dorian walked in.
He had discarded his overcoat, but his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded muscle beneath. His dark hair was slightly damp from the sleet, and his eyes burned with a cold, terrifying intensity that made the air in the room snap with static.
He took one look at my soaking-wet coat, the mud smudged across my boots, and the tense posture of his head of security.
“Out, Noah,” Dorian said without raising his voice.
Noah didn't hesitate. He gave a sharp nod, cast one guarded glance in my direction, and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the heavy double doors shut behind him.
Dorian crossed the room in two long strides. He didn't yell. He didn't ask how I had gotten outside or why I was dripping wet on the Persian rug. He reached out, his large hands gripping my shoulders, and pulled me toward him with a rough, desperate urgency, pressing me against his chest as if he needed to verify that I was actually solid, breathing, and real.
“You were on the balcony,” Dorian murmured into my hair, his breath coming in a harsh, controlled rhythm. “I saw your footprints in the snow from the courtyard below when I walked Moretti out. Are you out of your mind, Alina? Do you want to kill yourself?”
“I heard them, Dorian,” I whispered against his shirt, my voice trembling as the adrenaline finally began to drain out of my system. “I heard Moretti. He knows about the divorce. He used it to mock you. He said a man whose house is falling apart doesn't have the stomach for a war.”
Dorian’s hands tightened on my shoulders so hard it bruised. He slowly pulled back, looking down into my face, his dark eyes darkening further into an abyss of absolute fury.
“Moretti talks too much,” Dorian said softly, the danger in his voice making my blood run cold.
“It’s not just Moretti,” I insisted, catching his wrists. “Someone in your inner circle told him. Someone is leaking your business moves, and they knew about the papers we signed this morning. It’s a trap, Dorian. All of it.”
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A heavy, suffocating pause settled between us. Dorian didn't look surprised. He didn't look shocked. He looked like a man who had already suspected the poison in his own well and was simply waiting for the symptoms to manifest.
“I know,” Dorian said.
