The air around us still crackled with the residue of Alexander’s public claim. He had turned the tables on the press, transforming a calculated move into a display of passionate devotion. As he led me onto the dance floor, my silk dress swaying with the movement, I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on mine, a stamp of ownership I had both feared and craved.

“Satisfied, Mr. Sterling?” I whispered against his shoulder, my pulse still hammering a frantic rhythm. The physical thrill ...