The Last Place She'd Want to Be

Ryan dropped into the chair opposite Roman's desk, lazily scrolling through his phone.

"You have to pick either tomorrow or the day after, Rome," he said. "I already found someone for you. Blonde, gorgeous, and exactly your type."

Roman didn't even look up from his laptop as he replied, "I'm busy."

"You said the same thing last week. And the week before," Ryan shot back with a grin. "One of these days, you'll have to stop making excuses."

"I'm not making excuses."

Ryan tossed his phone onto the desk with a sigh.

"Then what are you doing? Because from where I'm sitting, you've been wound tighter than a guitar string for weeks." He folded his arms. "You need to loosen up. Getting laid might actually do you some good."

Roman continued typing.

"And who says I haven't been getting laid?"

"With the same women." Ryan rolled his eyes. "You need variety to ease off your stress, my friend."

Roman paused and finally glanced at Ryan with a bored expression.

"Do I look stressed?" he asked, before refocusing on his work, which he wasn't making progress on, thanks to Ryan's constant pestering.

"You completely lost your temper at the café yesterday. What do you call that if not stress?"

Roman's fingers paused over the keyboard.

"Yesterday was... different."

Yesterday was indeed a bad day for him. His grandfather had already ruined his morning by bringing up marriage again. The old man refused to let the subject die, as though Roman's life belonged to him.

By the time Alana spilled coffee all over him, his patience had already worn thin.

He shouldn't have let their little banter drag on, but she hadn't exactly helped matters either.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. She had more courage than common sense.

"Rome, focus." Ryan snapped his fingers.

Roman blinked, pulling himself back to the present.

"If you have nothing important to say, leave my office. Some of us actually have work to do."

Ryan opened his mouth to fire back when the office door swung open. Roman's secretary rushed inside, her usually composed expression replaced with unmistakable panic.

"Sir, we have a serious problem."

Roman frowned as she approached his desk.

"What happened?"

She crossed the room in hurried strides and held out her phone, her hand trembling slightly.

"You need to see this."

Roman took the phone from her. The moment his eyes landed on the screen, every trace of amusement vanished. His jaw hardened. Ryan frowned at the sudden change in his expression.

"What is it?"

Roman didn't answer.

He scrolled through the screen in silence, his grip tightening around the phone with every line he read.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Ryan stepped around the desk and looked over his shoulder.

His eyes widened.

The headline stretched across the top of the screen in bold letters.

> BILLIONAIRE HEIR ACCUSED OF PUBLICLY HARASSING A YOUNG WOMAN

Below it were several blurry photographs taken inside the café, including one where Roman appeared to be gripping Alana's wrist, which was obviously AI-edited because he never touched her.

"They twisted the whole thing," Ryan muttered, scrolling farther down. "They're saying you verbally abused her... and..." His face darkened. "They even implied you assaulted her."

A dangerous silence settled over the office. Roman slowly lowered the phone onto his desk.

"Who published this first?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

His secretary swallowed.

"We're still tracing the original source, sir."

"I want a list of every website that reposted it. Along with the person who took those photographs and altered them."

"Yes, sir." She nodded.

"Right away." She hurried out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Ryan let out a sigh.

"This isn't just gossip anymore, Rome."

Roman's eyes remained fixed on the headline.

The café incident wasn't the real problem. It was the last paragraph. Someone had linked yesterday's confrontation to the allegation made against him eight months ago.

His phone started vibrating on his desk.

Roman stared at the name on the screen before answering.

"What?"

The old man's voice was cold enough to freeze steel.

"Get to the mansion. Now."

The call ended.

Roman slowly lowered the phone, his expression hard. He slowly rose from his chair and reached for his car keys.

"Let's go grab a drink."

Ryan blinked, a bit taken aback.

"What about Mr. Beaufort? He'll be royally pissed if you don't see him."

"I will pay the old man a visit tomorrow." Roman slipped the keys into his pocket before walking toward the door. "Are you coming or what?"

Ryan stared after him in disbelief. Less than a minute ago, Roman had been buried in paperwork. Now he was voluntarily leaving the office in the middle of the afternoon and defying his grandfather, not that the latter was anything new.

That alone told Ryan how serious the situation really was. He quickly grabbed his phone and hurried after him.

Employees immediately straightened as Roman strode through the executive floor. The easy chatter that usually filled the hallway died the moment they saw the look on his face.

No one dared greet him or even tried to get in his way.

The private elevator doors slid open almost instantly. Roman stepped inside, Ryan following a second later.

The doors began to close. Only then did Roman loosen the knot of his tie and rake a hand through his hair.

"...Fuck."

Everything was about to go to shit if he didn't find a viable solution.

The piercing wail of her alarm clock jerked Alana violently from the fragile depths of her restless sleep.

She groaned in pure exhaustion and stretched her arm blindly across the cluttered bedside table until her searching fingers finally closed around the glowing phone.

With a heavy sigh, she silenced the relentless alarm before collapsing backward onto the soft pillow for just another precious few seconds of stolen sleep.

Sleep had been nearly impossible to claim throughout the long, exhausting night.

Every single time she dared to close her weary eyes, the ominous black SUV parked across the street swam sharply into view along with Roy's threatening message.

With a low, resigned exhalation, she forced her reluctant body out of the warm bed at last.

After a quick shower, she dressed and gathered her caramel-brown hair into a loose, practical ponytail.

By the time she descended the wide staircase, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted invitingly from the sunlit dining room.

Rosalind glanced up from the tablet in her hands and offered a gentle, knowing smile that softened her entire face.

"Morning, sweetheart," she said, voice warm and easy.

"Morning, Aunt," Alana answered, still sounding half-asleep.

"You look terribly tired," Rosalind observed with a slight frown of genuine concern.

"I couldn't sleep very well at all," Alana admitted, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand.

Rosalind frowned but decided not to push.

"Hopefully a good breakfast fixes that," she offered with a small grin.

Alana managed a faint smile.

"I hope so too," she said, dropping into her chair.

By nine o'clock, she was already on the wooden swing in the front garden, going through her class schedule while she waited for Brandon.

The gentle morning breeze carried the clean scent of freshly cut grass across the entire estate, making the peaceful surroundings feel like an entirely different world from the house she had escaped.

Footsteps approached across the gravel.

She looked up to see Ryan heading toward her in black shorts and a white T-shirt, the top buttons open.

Even from several feet away, she caught the unmistakable mix of lingering alcohol and expensive cologne that clung to him.

Her eyes dropped back to her phone. She still wasn't sure what had happened to the cheerful cousin she used to know.

When they were kids, they had been inseparable. People often mistook them for siblings because of the matching caramel-brown hair and brown eyes. Now he barely spoke to her.

"Hey," Ryan called, stopping beside the swing and rubbing the back of his neck.

That old habit hadn't changed. Whenever he wanted a favor, he always scratched there first.

"What time are you leaving?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Nine-thirty," Alana said, narrowing her eyes in mild suspicion. "Why?"

Ryan forced a thin smile.

"I need a favor," he confessed, his words coming out with reluctant honesty.

"I knew it," Alana muttered.

Ryan chuckled sheepishly.

"I need you to deliver something to a friend."

"Why don't you do it yourself?" she asked, folding her arms.

"I can't." Ryan hesitated. "I... had a little too much to drink last night."

He did smell like alcohol, but he didn't look that hung over.

"You seem perfectly fine," she said flatly.

"I don't trust myself behind the wheel," he insisted.

"Then ask Mr. Brandon," she suggested reasonably.

"He already left to run an errand for me."

"What about one of the drivers?"

Ryan shook his head hard. "I don't trust anyone else with this."

"So what exactly do I get out of this arrangement?" she inquired, lifting one eyebrow.

A wide grin spread across Ryan's face at once.

"You can use my car for the entire week without restriction," he offered grandly, as though presenting a royal gift.

Her eyes lit up with sudden interest. "Seriously?"

He nodded with complete seriousness. "You have my absolute word on it."

Alana did not even pretend to weigh the decision.

"Deal," she accepted at once, already imagining the freedom of the sleek vehicle.

"Great," he breathed, turning toward the house. "Come with me," he said, gesturing for her to follow.

Alana hopped lightly off the swing and trailed behind him across the garden.

The smile that had brightened Ryan's face slowly faded into something tighter and more troubled.

A heavy knot tightened in his stomach.

He still couldn't believe he'd made such a stupid bet after one drink too many. Now he was sending his own cousin straight toward the very last place she would ever want to be.