Refusing To Be His Perfect Replica, I Choose The Arranged Marriag by BlueMoone

Chapter 9

Alexander kept his arm around my waist, gently pulling me aside.

“He’ll kill him!” I hissed, watching William approach with the vintage cricket bat.

A dangerous smile played across Alexander’s sculpted features. “Darling, death would be too merciful.“

He pulled out his phone, his upper–class accent dripping with dark amusement: “Have a medical team on standby at the Blackwood estate. Discretion is paramount.”

His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, completely at odds with the tension in the air.

I shot him an incredulous look..

Castro dragged his gaze from William’s approaching figure, his perfectly maintained facade crumbling like his mud–stained Armani. “Aveline, we never properly ended things. This arranged marriage – it’s just business. You can’t possibly-”

The crack of willow on bone cut through the morning air as William’s cricket bat connected with surgical

precision.

Castro crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.

“I’ve been standing here listening to your bullshit,” William snarled. “You manipulated my sister, struck her, and now you have the audacity to make demands?” Another swing punctuated his words.

Despite his designer suit now being thoroughly ruined by grass stains, Castro kept his desperate eyes. locked on me, dragging himself forward like a wounded animal.

“Will, stop!” I called out as he raised the bat again.

“You see? She

smile froze as I crouched

us square. Next time you raise a hand to me, I won’t

rather difficult to break up when you never publicly acknowledged

Chapter 9

I smoothed my dress. “I’ll make this crystal clear, Castro: I don’t love you anymore. The next time you show up here, I

on Castro’s broken form

still unwilling to

over someone like him.”

reluctance, but couldn’t resist straddling Castro’s prone form to deliver a series of precise punches that would

out his rage, Alexander signaled the waiting medical team.

rang

spun around with lethal grace. I caught William’s Savile Row sleeve, but Alexander

Castro’s injured leg, grinding down with precise

eyes were arctic, “you’re making quite a case for

to watch her live her best life

“Take him away.”

down the private drive,

threaded his fingers through mine, his touch gentle. “Shall we hit Bond Street? Perhaps start

such

“Why shopping?”

quirked into a half–smile.

is the best cure for a

interjected hopefully. “I could use some