Chapter 96

"Remember your words!"

He flung the statement over his shoulder before striding out, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the frame.

......

Alexander Kingsley returned to the presidential suite seething with barely contained fury.

There was a time when his grandfather's birthday banquet had been his leverage against her.

Now the tables had turned—she'd mastered his own tactics and wielded them against him.

She was the one who insisted on the breakup. She was the one who disregarded the old man's fragile health.

Yet here he was, practically begging her not to cause a scene at the celebration.

"Nathan!"

His bark made the assistant jump. "Y-yes, Lord Alex?"

The glacial glare Alexander leveled at him could've flash-frozen the Mediterranean. Nathan's knees nearly buckled.

"How does one appease a woman?"

Nathan blinked. "...Pardon?"

Had he hallucinated that question?

Alexander's expression darkened. "Must I repeat myself?"

"N-no! It's... actually quite simple..." Nathan suddenly missed Ethan Miller with painful intensity. He'd never mock the man's survival skills again.

"Women adore romance. Flowers, candlelit dinners, jewelry... but sweet words matter most." He racked his brain for dating advice from his nonexistent love life.

"Such as?"

Nathan swallowed. "Well..."

How was he supposed to articulate this?

"How many relationships have you had?"

"That's..."

"Zero?"

Nathan winced.

"Then where," Alexander enunciated each syllable like a death sentence, "did you acquire this expertise?"

The assistant nearly wept.

This was outright bullying! He'd answered honestly, only to get skewered for his lack of experience. Since when was being single a crime?

Not everyone was born with a diamond spoon in their mouth and a stunning childhood sweetheart. Honestly, if even Alexander with all his advantages had driven Evelyn Sinclair to despair...

Nathan shook his head internally.

With one-tenth of Alexander's resources, he could've had women swooning in droves. Yet this man had somehow managed to end up alone.

But who was he to judge the boss? Some people just won the genetic lottery.

"Order roses." Alexander's abrupt command snapped him back. "Every available stem in the city."

Nathan hesitated. "There are... numerous varieties, Lord Alex."

"Which mends broken trust?"

"C-crimson Roses!" Nathan wanted to scream from the nearest rooftop. He held an Ivy League degree, for heaven's sake! Since when did his job require expertise in floral symbolism?

......

Evelyn Sinclair was reviewing promo materials with her assistant on set.

"These documents stay under lock and key." She tapped the sealed folder. "No leaks whatsoever."

Horizon Media would handle the three-month publicity campaign for the First Lady production.

Iris Cooper nodded vigorously when a commotion erupted near the entrance.

"Miss Evelyn Sinclair?"

Every head swiveled toward the unfamiliar voice.

"That's me." Evelyn approached the flushed courier.

"Delivery for you—twenty truckloads of Crimson Roses requiring signature!"

The entire crew gasped.

Hollywood had seen extravagant gestures, but twenty eighteen-wheelers overflowing with blooms now gridlocked the studio's main thoroughfare.

A scarlet river cascaded from each truck bed, smothering the pavement in opulent excess. The sheer decadence left onlookers speechless.

The entire film lot buzzed with the spectacle.

"Who has that kind of money?"

"Rumor says someone bought out the nation's rose supply today!"

"Crimson Roses are cliché, but twenty trucks? That's next-level audacity."

"What woman warrants this? Which A-lister is it for?"

"Maybe that Kingsley heiress..."

Gossip spread faster than wildfire through every soundstage.

"There must be a mistake." Evelyn stared at the floral avalanche.

Who would send her roses?

Alexander?

Preposterous!

In all their years, he'd gifted everything except flowers. The closest thing being that lost sunflower hairpin from childhood.

She remembered Valentine's Day at thirteen, sidewalks crammed with couples clutching rose bouquets.

"Did you get me flowers, Alex?" she'd asked eagerly when he came to pick her up.

"Children don't need roses," he'd dismissed without hesitation.

Seeing her crushed expression, he'd relented slightly. "Ask again at eighteen."

So she'd waited.

And on her eighteenth birthday, when she'd mustered the courage—

[You think you deserve them?]