The Villains Must Win-Chapter 75: Alexander Vale 25

"Oh, don’t you know? She’s the one who almost ran me over with her car. If it weren’t for another vehicle coming out of nowhere and crashing into hers at the last second, I’d probably be a pancake on the road right now."

Celeste beamed at Ethan, all sugar-coated sarcasm.

"But knowing Riley," Celeste added, "I’m sure it was all just an accident, right?"

Ethan’s jaw tightened. His entire body went rigid as the realization set in.

Celeste continued, her tone light but laced with meaning. "Anyway, shouldn’t you be checking up on her? She is your girlfriend, after all."

She waved him off dismissively, hoping to push him out of the room, but Ethan remained rooted in place, his expression dark and unreadable.

"I’ll talk to her about this," he said at last, his voice dangerously low. "And we’re not in a relationship. So don’t worry."

Before Celeste could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"What are you doing here?"

A chill ran down her spine. The voice was smooth yet sharp, laced with an edge of quiet authority. She didn’t need to look to know who it belonged to.

Alexander Vale.

And when she finally turned her head, her breath hitched.

He stood in the doorway, his presence sucking the air out of the room. Dressed in a sleek black coat, his piercing gaze locked onto Ethan with barely concealed disdain. His sharp features were unreadable, but his body language spoke volumes—he was not pleased.

Celeste felt her heart pound.

Ethan tensed immediately, turning to face Alexander, the air between them crackling with tension in an instant.

Celeste could only watch as two men—her past and present—stood in the same room, their gazes locked in an unspoken battle.

And somehow, she had the sinking feeling that this night was far from over.

Celeste’s lips curled into a fake smile as she turned to Ethan.

"Can you leave us alone, Ethan? My boyfriend is here."

The words were slow, laced with both edge and dismissal.

Ethan’s expression twisted like he had just inhaled something rancid. His jaw tightened, and his nose crumpled in distaste as he sized Alexander up and down, his gaze dripping with barely concealed contempt.

"Alright," Ethan finally said, stepping back, though his reluctance was evident. "I’ll leave for now because you need rest, Celeste. But think about what I said. I’m serious."

His voice carried weight, a lingering message beneath his words.

And then he was gone.

The moment the door shut behind him, Celeste suddenly wished he’d stayed.

Because now, she was alone with him.

Alexander Vale.

And the storm that was barely contained behind his golden-amber eyes.

His presence was suffocating, his energy coiling around her like a vice, thick with possessiveness and something far more dangerous—barely restrained fury.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was eerily calm, controlled.

Celeste let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the hospital blanket. She knew that calm. It was the sharp edge of a blade, the deep breath before the plunge, the moment right before the storm shattered everything in its path.

But he was holding himself back. Because she was hurt.

Despite his obsessive, possessive nature, Alexander had restraint. And right now, she was grateful for it.

"I’m fine," she murmured. "The nurse assured me there’s nothing wrong."

Alexander’s jaw flexed, his expression still unreadable. "Good." A pause. Then, colder, firmer—"I’ll have them run a few more tests just to make sure."

Celeste almost smiled. Of course he would. If he had his way, he’d have the entire hospital shut down just to focus on her recovery.

She didn’t argue. Not because she agreed—but because she knew this was his way of dealing with his anger.

Then, finally, the storm cracked.

Alexander exhaled slowly, his gaze darkening.

"What was he doing here?"

His voice had a razor’s edge now, the calm facade slipping.

He wanted to touch her—she could feel it. His hand twitched at his side, his fingers curling and uncurling. But when his gaze flicked to the IV attached to her arm, he restrained himself with visible effort.

Celeste tilted her head, studying him.

She could push him further, stoke the fire that was barely contained beneath his sculpted, calculated exterior.

Or . . . she could douse it.

She chose the latter. As much as she was amused and tempted to test his limits, she was injured at the moment and didn’t want to take the risk.

With slow, deliberate movements, she lifted her uninjured hand and placed it gently over his.

Alexander went still.

His entire body tensed at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, his breathing changed—deepened.

Celeste’s fingers traced small, featherlight circles over the back of his hand. A simple touch, yet it unraveled something in him. She could feel the way his fury coiled into something else, something raw.

"You’re scaring me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

And just like that, the fire in his eyes dimmed.

Alexander inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching beneath hers. Then, with a slow, controlled movement, he lifted their entwined hands and pressed his lips against her palm.

A quiet sigh escaped him, almost as if he had been drowning and she had just pulled him back to shore.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. "I just—" His voice faltered for the first time that night. "When I heard what happened, when I saw you lying here, I—and then that man . . ."

His grip tightened, his emotions bleeding through his usually composed mask.

Celeste’s heart clenched.

He was furious. But beneath that, he had been scared. She gave him a small, tired smile, squeezing his hand.

"I’m okay, Alex."

His gaze lifted to hers, searching. And then, with agonizing slowness, he exhaled, finally letting go of the storm that had been raging within him.

For now.

"So, what did that guy want?"

Celeste waited until she sensed that Alexander was in a better mood before casually dropping the bomb.

"Oh, he wanted to get back with me."