THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 138: Her own doom

Chapter 138: Her own doom

"And that, my dear Alex, is what I call a proper toast to a job well done," Riley declared, her voice laced with triumphant satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at her lips as she raised her wine glass, the deep red liquid swirling lazily under the dim glow of the chandelier.

Her caramel-hued fingers gripped the stem elegantly before she extended it toward Alex, who lounged casually on the couch opposite her, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Alex reached forward, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he accepted the glass.

He brought it to his lips, taking a measured sip, savoring the rich taste before leaning back into the cushions. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Well, we might as well indulge," he murmured, twirling the glass between his fingers. "After all, a little pleasure never hurt anyone."

Riley curled up in her seat, cradling her own glass between her hands, the cold rim pressing against her palm. A knowing smile danced across her lips, but something flickered behind her dark eyes—something unreadable, something unresolved.

"I could have done far worse to Angel," she mused, her voice soft yet laced with an unspoken edge. Her gaze lingered on Alex, watching for any subtle shift in his expression. "And you know that, don’t you?"

Alex’s lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he exhaled through his nose, offering nothing more than a tight, knowing smile before taking another sip.

"I know," he admitted, his voice quieter this time. "And I appreciate what you did. You gave us exactly what we needed. But, Riley..." He met her eyes, his tone turning almost cautious. "You’ve done enough."

For a fleeting moment, Riley allowed herself to bask in his words, the weight of his gratitude settling over her like a warm embrace. Yet, deep down, a part of her ached with unfulfilled desire.

The job may have been finished, but she wasn’t.

If they had just let her, she could have handled Tryson herself—could have made him pay in ways they never imagined.

Her fingers trailed absently along the rim of her glass, tracing slow, methodical circles as she sank into her thoughts.

"So... Tryson."

Alex’s voice cut through her reverie like a blade, pulling her back to the present. His gaze had sharpened, curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes. "What did you do to him?"

For a fraction of a second, Riley hesitated, masking the pause with a practiced, almost lazy smile. She met his gaze, but the glint in her eyes—so bold moments ago—dimmed ever so slightly.

Then, with a slow tilt of her head, she finally spoke.

"Eventually, he slipped into a deep sleep just when I thought he was about to do something," Riley stated, though her tone carried a subtle unease, a slight waver that hadn’t been there before.

Alex took a slow sip from his glass, eyeing her with mild curiosity.

"Didn’t you inject the drug into his system? He should have felt an overwhelming urge to do exactly what we expected." His voice was casual, almost detached, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.

Riley let out a small scoff, shaking her head.

"Oh, he did. He thought I was Angel—obviously. The drug worked just as planned, clouding his mind, twisting his reality. But before he could act on it, the sedative took full effect. He knocked out a little while later." She leaned back into her seat, swirling the liquid in her glass. "He’s in the room now, completely out of it. And don’t worry, I made sure the doctor who supplied me the drug won’t be able to help him piece together what happened before he blacked out."

As soon as she said those words, mentioning Tryson’s inability to remember, Alex’s hand stilled around his glass. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes as he turned to her, his expression shifting slightly.

Riley caught the look instantly. Her brows knitted together in suspicion. "Is something the matter?" she asked cautiously, her fingers tightening around her glass.

Alex exhaled, tilting his head as he regarded her. "Now that I think about it," he began, his tone still infuriatingly calm, "you’re the reason why Angel ended up pregnant—with Tryson’s child."

The words hit Riley like a physical blow. Her grip on the glass faltered for a split second.

"What did you just say?" she demanded, her voice sharper, her body tensing.

Alex’s gaze remained steady, unreadable. "You heard me."

Riley’s mind reeled.

Sure, Tryson had once claimed he was the father, but she never gave it much thought. At the time, she’d assumed he was just manipulating her, trying to make her keep quiet.

But now, hearing Alex say it with such certainty—Alex, who never spoke without knowing the full truth—it sent a chill down her spine.

"Tryson... is actually the father?" she muttered, almost to herself, her disbelief evident.

Alex gave a slow, deliberate nod.

And just like that, everything she thought she knew started to shift.

The shock coursed through Riley like an electric current, her body stiffening as the weight of Alex’s words sank in.

But beneath the disbelief, a far more potent emotion began to bubble to the surface—hatred. A burning, venomous hatred that curled through her veins like wildfire.

"How..." she started to whisper, her voice barely more than a breath. But before she could fully form the question clawing at her mind, Alex’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"You must have forgotten," he said, his tone eerily steady, "but you were the one who drugged Tryson that night. You arranged for my men to get him into that room. And have you truly forgotten, Riley?" He turned his piercing gaze toward her, unyielding. "The night you slept with another man instead of Tryson?"

Riley’s head snapped toward him, her lips parting, but no words came out.

She shook her head—once, twice—as if trying to physically reject what he was saying. But the memories... oh, the memories were ruthless. They came rushing back like a flood, drowning her in the bitter taste of regret.

She could never forget that night.

Yes, she had drugged Tryson, slipping it into his drink with the calculated precision of someone who thought she had complete control.

She had ensured he wouldn’t remember a single thing once the night was over. In her mind, she had won. She had finally managed to trap him, to bind him to her in a way he could never escape.

But then—morning came.

And with it, the cruelest betrayal.

The man she had spent the night with, the body she had thought belonged to Tryson... was someone else entirely.

And Tryson? He had spent the night with another woman.

With Angel.

Riley felt her breath hitch, her fingers trembling around the glass she had forgotten she was holding.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

But the truth was as clear as the storm raging inside her.

She had orchestrated the perfect plan—only to become the architect of her own downfall.

She was the cause of her own doom.