Alexander
There’s something dreamlike about Bel Air at dusk, he thinks, as the Range Rover carries him through the gates. As the driver lets him out, security greets him with a nod and a silent gesture toward the entrance.
Inside, pale marble floors stretch into echoing hallways. He’s guided past the great room, where he spots a Hockney above the fireplace, then down a corridor lined with modern art, and finally into the private study.
Ethan John Davies looks up from his desk, appraising Alexander. “We meet at last.”
For a second, Alexander thinks he recognizes something in Ethan’s eyes. Were they both after the same thing? Maybe. But Ethan’s motives were more personal. He’d played dirty in the divorce to punish Raf for her defiance, to reassert his dominance, maybe even out of hatred, plain and simple. Whatever drove him, it wasn’t love or fate.
“Seems like we’ve entered a new phase,” Alexander says.
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“New phase, new tactics.”
“How may I be of help?”
Until now, everything has been filtered through Ethan’s private investigator—the same one who first approached Alexander when Raf started therapy.
Back then, the investigator had been blunt: his boss wanted leverage. Dirt. Asked Alexander to name his price. But it was only after Raf ended their sessions that Alexander picked up the phone and called the investigator back.
The scheme took shape from there. Casey was already in Alexander’s grip, so it was perfect timing. Alexander blackmailed him into seducing Raf—an affair engineered to blow up her life. Every text, every grainy photo went straight to Ethan’s investigator, packaged as ammunition for the divorce.
But Alexander had an agenda all his own. The selfies were the final stroke, baited out of Raf, then fed to TMZ to finish the job.
For a moment, it worked. She came back to therapy, shattered and ashamed, exactly where Alexander wanted her—exactly how he wanted her—until Casey, wracked with guilt, ruined everything.
And now? Helping Ethan again. Getting his own revenge. It’s the only card he has left.
“She cracked today,” Ethan says, swirling his drink. “Just like you said she would.”
Alexander’s mouth curls, a cold amusement flickering in his gaze. “Told you. I know my patients better than their own spouses.”
“Ex-spouse, soon enough,” Ethan says, raising his glass. “Now. Let’s talk next steps.”