Reborn Heiress: The Wall Street Titan's Bride

Alaia reached up to pull Gabriel's heavy suit jacket off her shoulders, intending to hand it back.

Gabriel's large hand shot out, his fingers brushing against her wrist. He pushed her hand down.

"Keep it," Gabriel said, his eyes locking onto hers in the dim light. "The wind is cold. Consider it a down payment on our partnership."

Alaia didn't argue. She nodded once. "Thank you."

She pushed the heavy car door open and stepped out onto the pavement. She walked through the revolving glass doors of her apartment building without looking back.

Gabriel sat in the dark cabin, watching her straight, unyielding posture until she disappeared into the lobby. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Drive," he ordered Mitch.

Alaia rode the elevator to her empty penthouse. She kicked off her stilettos, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, but her mind was buzzing with adrenaline.

She didn't turn on the overhead lights. She walked straight to the living room, bathed only in the glow of a single floor lamp, and booted up her high-end desktop computer.

The blue light of the monitor illuminated her pale, focused face. Before she could even open a single browser tab, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed from her front door. Alaia stiffened. She walked cautiously to the entryway and checked the security monitor. Standing in the hallway was Mitch Donovan, Gabriel's personal driver. She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open just a fraction. Mitch bowed slightly, holding out a small, black velvet box. "Mr. Alvarado requested I deliver this to you, Ms. Dudley. He said it is the necessary collateral for your new partnership." Alaia took the box, her brow furrowing in confusion. As Mitch turned and strode toward the elevator, she slowly opened the lid. Inside rested a massive, heavy black obsidian signet ring-the undeniable Alvarado family crest. A shiver of pure, terrifying adrenaline shot down her spine. Gabriel wasn't just agreeing to a deal; he was branding her as his territory. She closed the box, setting it carefully beside her keyboard. She logged into her burner accounts and surveyed the battlefield.

Austen's most extreme fan groups, GossipFerret and KeepYourDistance, were organizing a massive counterattack. They were flooding the hashtags, claiming the man in the video was a body double. They even posted a forged call sheet proving Austen was in a production meeting all night.

Alaia let out a dark chuckle. She opened a hidden cloud drive filled with thousands of intimate photos she had taken of Austen over the years.

She used a burner account to post a side-by-side comparison. She zoomed in on a microscopic mole on the back of the man's ear in the video, matching it perfectly to a high-definition red carpet photo of Austen.

The post went viral in minutes. The "body double" theory was instantly shattered. The comments section turned into a bloodbath of mockery against the delusional fans.

Then, a massive fan account named AustensFutureWife tagged Alaia directly: You were always so controlling! You suffocated him! If he cheated, it's because you drove him to it!

The victim-blaming ignited a hot, violent rage in Alaia's chest. She switched back to her main verified account with ten million followers.

She quote-tweeted the fan. Controlling? Do you mean when I hid his fake depression diagnosis for three years to save his brand? Or when I paid off the financial hole he dug in his last production?

The tweet was a nuclear bomb. It didn't just expose his fake persona; it tipped off the financial media that Austen was broke.

The fan account panicked, deleted the tweet, and deactivated within seconds. The fan base began to fracture and collapse in real-time.

Another troll, AlwaysRight, tried to pivot the attack. Look at the jacket in her selfie! She's already sleeping with someone else! She's just as dirty!

Alaia's fingers hammered the keys. That jacket belongs to a gentleman who lent it to me when I was freezing. Unlike some people, he doesn't use his fiancée as a stepping stone.

She didn't name Evelyn, but the internet was fast. Within minutes, sleuths connected the dots, and Evelyn's secret engagement became the new trending topic.

Every time Alaia hit the enter key, another piece of Austen's life was destroyed. She leaked screenshots of him texting other actresses. The brands that sponsored him began pulling his ads from their websites in a panic.

She watched his follower count plummet by the tens of thousands every second. The sweet, intoxicating taste of vengeance coated her tongue.

She was just about to draft a tweet hinting at his tax evasion when the sharp, piercing sound of her apartment doorbell rang out.

It was 2:00 AM.

Alaia's hands froze over the keyboard. No one friendly visits at 2:00 AM.

She stood up silently. She grabbed a sharp, metal letter opener from her desk and gripped it tight. She crept toward the front door, her bare feet making zero noise.

She pressed her eye against the peephole.

It wasn't Austen. It wasn't a crazed fan.

Standing in the hallway was a middle-aged man in a stiff, three-piece suit. Two massive bodyguards stood behind him.

It was her estranged father's chief assistant.

The man looked directly into the doorbell camera. His voice was arrogant and demanding. "Ms. Dudley. Open the door. Mr. Darrius Dudley wishes to see you."