BILLIONAIRES: Father or Son

Chapter Fifty-Eight

FLORA'S POV

"If that isn't the charismatic Alexander Lee Bennett," a sultry female voice chimed behind us, rich with amusement and laced with a faint accent.

I felt Alex stiffen beside me, his grip on my hand tightening ever so slightly before he turned toward the source of the voice. I followed his gaze, my curiosity piqued, and my eyes met a piercing deep blue gaze staring into mine with a smirk. She looked stunning, and from her poise and the way she clutched her wine glass, I could tell she had been in this game for a long time. She was breathtaking, the kind of woman whose entire existence screamed old money, designer labels, and boarding school poise. Everything about her, her sleek, raven hair and her perfectly lined crimson lips, looked polished to perfection. She seemed familiar somehow, but I couldn't place her face.

"Cynthia," Alex said with forced cheerfulness as he strode toward her.

I watched as they exchanged kisses on the cheek, the kind of cheek kiss rich people give when they pretend to like each other. Her smirk grew wider as she turned her gaze to me, eyes sweeping me from head to toe in a way that made me feel as if I were a high school girl caught wearing knockoff brands.

"Cynthia, meet Flora Roberts," Alex said, clearing his throat as though his voice had momentarily caught. "She's the Head Designer for Bennette Fashion. Flora, this is Cynthia Catalano." He hesitated, and her smirk deepened. Alex shot her a brief look before adding, "She's an Italian wine heiress."

Wine heiress. Figures.

I forced a polite smile, ignoring the way her eyes practically undressed me with judgment. Straightening my posture, I extended my hand toward her, hoping to appear both confident and unbothered. "Nice to meet you, Cynthia."

She didn't take my hand. Didn't even glance at it. Instead, she brought her wine glass to her lips, sipped languidly, and let my hand hang there awkwardly for what felt like an eternity. Humiliation coiled in my chest, but before I could retract my hand, Alex reached out, grabbed it, and entwined his fingers with mine. The simple gesture made my embarrassment fade slightly, though I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I didn't belong here, like I was desperately trying to play in a league where women like her reigned supreme.

"Enjoy your night, Cynthia," Alex said, his voice tinged with irritation as he prepared to pull me away.

"Not so fast, Alexander," she purred, her gaze dropping to our joined hands. "Is she more than just your Head Designer? Or does she design... other places too?" A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes, and I instantly loathed her.

Alex stiffened beside me, leaning closer to her. "Listen, Cynthia. You're being outrightly rude, and I don't like it. Show some respect for my staff."

"Rude?" Cynthia's laugh was like glass breaking; sharp and cutting. "I'm merely curious. You can't blame a girl for asking questions, can you?" Her manicured finger traced down Alex's arm, lingering just long enough to make my blood boil.

"Not here, Cynthia. You know I'm not playing your games tonight," Alex growled, his voice low and dark.

I couldn't take it anymore. Something inside me snapped. I had dealt with enough women like her in my past, Melissa and Lisette included. Women who assumed their wealth or privilege gave them the right to make someone else feel small. But not anymore. I had worked too hard, and fought too many battles, to let her smug condescension ruin this moment.

"And what exactly gives you the right to inquire about his personal life—or mine?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

The smug expression on Cynthia's face faltered for half a second, her blue eyes flickering with surprise, but she recovered quickly. Her lips curled back into that infuriating smirk. I felt Alex's hand tighten around mine, as though he were silently pleading with me to let it go.