Mafia Heir, You Have 60 Seconds to Text Me Back Chapter 06

Mafia Heir, You Have 60 Seconds to Text Me Back Chapter 06

Alec paced back and forth outside my dorm building.

Is her fever that bad? Why is she taking so long to come down?

He stared anxiously at his phone, completely unaware of how worried he looked.

I changed into a new dress and walked outside.

Ignoring his scowling, exhausted face, I reached out and playfully looped my arm through his. “Look at you. I

call, and you come running. Good boy.”

Alec went utterly rigid. A split second later, a wave of dark realization and fury flooded his eyes.

“You’re not sick?”

I didn’t bother answering. Seeing his rising temper, I let go of his arm and allowed my expression to turn

instantly cold.

He had lied to me for weeks with that stupid bet; playing him once was well–deserved payback. If he got mad,

he could deal with it.

Comments burst into laughter:

[LMAO! Clara refuses to take even a single drop of attitude! The second Alec gets aggressive, she turns

around to leave!]

[If Clara keeps playing him like this, isn’t she scared the Mafia Prince will dump her ass later?]

Alec felt a suffocating tightness seize his chest. Reaching out, he snatched my wrist, his grip so tight it was

nearly bruising.

If it weren’t for that damned bet-!

He would never–there was no way in hell he’d lower himself to coaxing this infuriating, ruthless woman!

The thought of everything he had done for Clara over the past few weeks, only to realize he’d been toyed with like a complete fool, sent a roaring rage surging through his blood.

Somehow, this felt worse than Sienna rejecting him ever had. That had bruised his ego. Clara made him feel

like an idiot.

Alec finally cracked, shouting at the top of his lungs, “And here I was, worried sick about you!”

No sane man alive would ever agree to follow those absurd one hundred rules! He’d followed every single

one of them–so why the hell was she still giving him the cold shoulder?!

What did she take him for? A puppet? A toy to be thrown around at her whim?

Yet, the moment his eyes locked with Clara’s icy, distant gaze, a sudden pang of secret panic seized his

heart.

I creased my brows. Because Alec was shouting and making a scene outside the dorm, several passing

students were already stopping to stare.

I slapped his hand away.

The second Alec caught the visible flicker of distaste on my face, his eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “Are

you… are you seriously ashamed of being seen with me?!”

To give him credit, Alec wasn’t stupid. To figure me out, he’d spent most of the past week studying every

change in my expression.

The anger in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by something almost wounded.

Life had always been far too easy for him; he wasn’t used to hearing no, and he definitely wasn’t used to hearing it twice from the same person. Even when he was chasing Sienna Vance, the moment she turned him down, he had simply turned on his heel and walked away.

A faint, cold smile touched the corners of my lips.

“Alec, you do realize how well I know you, don’t you?”

I looked into his eyes calmly. “After all, I know every single one of your personal habits and preferences.”

Alec froze, utterly bewildered as to why I was bringing this up now. He let out a stiff, gruff grunt from his

throat. “Yeah.”

“So, if I know you that well… how could I possibly fail to see that you only pursued me to get back at Sienna

Vance?”

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a quiet, lethal murmur. “We don’t come from the same world, Alec. If Sienna came to you tomorrow and said both families wanted the two of you engaged, would you really turn.

them down?”

I hated playing defense.

I left the question hanging and pushed his hands away.

Alec stood rooted to the spot, utterly speechless, a rare flush of intense shame washing over his face.

I had no idea what kind of mental gymnastics his brain was performing, but a moment later, I noticed the

sharp edges in his gaze softening into something unexpectedly gentle.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose nervously. “…What do you want for dinner?”

Watching him swallow his temper, I decided my $200,000 payout was practically guaranteed.

If he were merely trying to win a bet without a single shred of genuine feeling, a man with his volatile temper

and immense pride would never have let his fury flare this wildly–only to swallow it right back down.

After all, the Mafia Prince cared about his pride more than anything else in the world.