CHAPTER 183: PREPOSITION

~LAYLA~

Marco turned, the surprise on his face seconds ago melting into a slow, arrogant smile. "Axel. Good timing." He gestured back and forth between us. "I was just having a... stimulating... chat with your lovely wife."

The possessiveness in his voice, the way he said "your lovely wife" like I was some property to be appraised, made my skin crawl.

Axel didn’t look at him.

His eyes were on me, searching, asking a thousand questions in a single, ice-cold glance. He moved, not with a rush, but with a dangerous calm, closing the distance to stand beside me.

He put his hand on my waist, a clear, territorial gesture that was as much for my reassurance as it was a warning to Marco.

Only then did he turn his head, his gaze pinning Marco to the spot.

"Get. Out."

There was a second of silence, and then, Marco actually chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "This isn’t your office, compare. It’s hers. We were just discussing business. And other... opportunities." His gaze flickered to the gift bag on my desk, that smug smile still plastered on his face.

Axel followed his gaze, and his eyes narrowed. He reached over, not with anger but with a chilling lack of it, and picked up the bag. He didn’t look inside, just held it between his thumb and forefinger as if it were something diseased.

"A small token," Marco offered, his smile widening. "A preview of a... safer future. One you don’t seem capable of providing."

That was the spark.

Axel didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t have to. He took a step toward Marco, forcing the other man to unconsciously take a half-step back.

"Let me be clear," Axel said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that I felt more than heard. "You will never speak to my wife alone again. You will not come to her place of residence or business. And you will not bring her... trash."

With a flick of his wrist, Axel dropped the expensive gift bag into the wastepaper basket beside my desk.

The sound it made hitting the bottom was somehow louder than it should have been.

Marco’s smile finally vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine anger. "You’re making a mistake, O’Brien. That’s pride talking. It’s what gets men like you killed. I’m offering your wife an alternative. A way out of the hole you’ve dug for her."

"I see a messenger boy for his father," Axel shot back in an icy tone. "A dog rattling his own leash, trying to pretend he’s the master."

In the world we lived in, it was a mortal insult. It didn’t just question Marco’s power; it denied he had any.

Marco’s face darkened, and his hands clenched at his sides. For a moment, I thought he might actually leave. That he’d take the insult and walk away.

Instead, he stepped forward and swung.

The punch was fast, aimed right at Axel’s jaw. But Axel was faster. He ducked, letting Marco’s fist sail past his head, and came up with a brutal hook to Marco’s ribs.

The crack was audible.

Marco staggered back, gasping, one hand clutching his side. "You son of a..."

He lunged again, this time managing to connect with Axel’s cheekbone. Axel’s head snapped to the side, and I saw blood at the corner of his mouth.

But Axel barely flinched.

He grabbed Marco by the front of his expensive suit jacket and slammed him against the wall beside my bookshelf. Awards rattled. A framed certificate fell to the floor, and the glass shattered.

"You wanted a demonstration?" Axel snarled, his face inches from Marco’s. "Here it is."

He drove his fist into Marco’s stomach, once, twice. Marco doubled over, wheezing, trying to shove Axel away.

"Axel!" I shouted, torn between letting him finish and stopping this before it went too far.

Axel released Marco, letting him slump against the wall. Marco coughed, spitting blood onto my office carpet, his hand still pressed to his ribs.

"You will regret that," Marco spat, his accent thickening with rage and pain. "My father will hear about this."

"Good," Axel said, not even breathing hard. "Tell him. Tell him I’m done playing nice. Tell him four days, and he’ll have his answer. Now, get out of my building. Or my security will drag you out."

Marco stared at Axel for a few seconds in a silen battle of wills. Blood dripped from his split lip onto his white shirt collar.

Finally, with visible effort, he straightened his suit jacket, looking offended but trying to maintain an atom of dignity, even though he was still hunched over.

"Four days, compare," he sneered. "That’s all you have left. And when you fail..." He turned his hateful gaze to me. "The offer still stands, Layla. You’re a smart woman. You’ll make the smart choice when the time comes."

He limped toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Pity. You would have looked spectacular in my colors, Layla."

He walked out, leaving the door open and a toxic silence in his wake.

The moment I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway, the icy control Axel had maintained shattered.

He let out a breath, his hand coming up to touch his split lip. He turned to me with blazing eyes; the fury was still there but gradually replaced with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I’m fine," I said, though I was shaking. "He’s a disgusting pig."

Axel’s jaw was a knot of granite. "What did he say to you before I got here? What was that proposition?"

"Same thing he said at the dinner."

Axel didn’t reply; he just walked to the window, staring out at the city in a rigid stance.

"Axel?"

"When this is over," he said quietly, "he’s a dead man. I don’t care about his father. I don’t care about the cartel. I will kill him."

"Axel, no," I said, coming up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "He’s was just posturing. Trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him."

"It worked okay?" he growled, turning in my arms to pull me tight against him, burying his face in my hair. His body was still rigid with tension. "He threatened you. He propositioned you. In your own office. Like you were some prize he could claim."

He held me at arm’s length, his hands gripping my shoulders.

His eyes searched mine. "He’s not wrong about one thing. The clock is ticking, Layla. And I’m fresh out of patience."