Emily returned to the penthouse to find Alexander pacing like a caged animal, his phone crushed in his hand—clearly destroyed in a fit of rage. The moment he saw her, he crossed the space between them in three strides and pulled her against him with bruising force.
"You're okay," he breathed against her hair, his entire body trembling. "Thank God, you're okay."
"Of course I'm okay," Emily said, trying to pull back enough to see his face. "Alexander, it was just tea. Nothing happened—"
"Just tea?" Alexander's laugh was harsh and broken. "My mother doesn't do 'just tea.' She does psychological warfare disguised as polite conversation. She does manipulation wrapped in maternal concern. She does—" He stopped abruptly, his hands framing Emily's face with desperate intensity. "What did she say to you? What did she do?"
