Chapter 4: The Toaster and The Terrace

The morning after the disastrous dinner, Mia arrived at the mansion determined to treat everything as strictly professional. She was wiping down the kitchen counters when she noticed the heavy, chrome vintage toaster making a strange, high-pitched buzzing noise.

Small, blue sparks were jumping off the frayed cord near the back of the outlet.

“Fire hazard,” she muttered to herself.

Mia had always been the mechanic of her household. Growing up with no money meant if the plumbing broke, you fixed it. If the heater died, you took it apart. You didn’t call a technician who charged $200 just to pull into the driveway.

She opened the utility drawer, grabbed a Phillips-head screwdriver, and pulled the toaster away from the wall. “Just a loose ground wire,” she whispered, unscrewing the back panel.

What Mia didn’t realize was that the mansion’s wiring in that specific wall panel was completely faulty. Even though she hit the power switch on the toaster, the current was still running hot through the frayed cord.

She leaned in, gripping the wet handle of her screwdriver, and tapped the exposed copper wire.

SNAP!

The electric shock was instantaneous and violent. A massive jolt of raw electricity ripped up Mia’s left arm. She screamed, a raw, terrifying sound, as the force threw her violently backward. She crashed to the floor, her shoulder slamming into a metal utility cart, bringing a cascade of heavy copper pots crashing down around her in a deafening clatter.

Upstairs in his study, Alexander heard the scream.

The sound bypassed his brain and went straight to his adrenaline receptors. He dropped a multimillion-dollar contract onto the floor, bolted out of his chair, and sprinted down the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He slid into the kitchen and froze.

Mia was crumpled on the tile floor, gasping for air, clutching her left arm tightly against her chest. Her face was chalk-white, and a nasty, blistering red burn was already forming across her palm.

“Mia!” Alexander dropped to his knees, sliding across the tile to reach her. “What happened?!”

“The… the toaster,” she gasped, her whole body shaking from the aftershocks of the current. “I thought I could… I thought I could fix it.”

Alexander looked up, seeing the blackened scorch mark on the marble counter and the smoking wires. Panic seized his chest with a grip so tight he could barely breathe.

“You got electrocuted. Can you stand?”

“I think… I think so,” Mia stuttered, trying to push herself up. But her legs gave out instantly, trembling like jelly.

Before she could hit the floor again, Alexander’s arms were around her. Without a second of hesitation, he scooped her up bridal style, lifting her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.

“Hey!” Mia protested weakly, her head falling against his shoulder. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“Shut up and stop being stubborn for five seconds!” Alexander ordered, his voice cracking with sheer terror. “I am taking you to the hospital. Right now.”

“It was just a little shock! No need for the billionaire drama—”

“Your hand is burned to a crisp and you can’t feel your legs, Mia! End of discussion!”

He kicked the kitchen doors open, carrying her straight out to his black SUV.

The fifteen-minute drive to the emergency room was a blur of running red lights and Alexander gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Every thirty seconds, he threw a frantic glance at the passenger seat, terrified she was going to pass out.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a corpse,” Mia mumbled, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window. “I’ve had worse shocks trying to fix my mother’s rigged showerhead.”

“That does not comfort me in the slightest,” Alexander snapped, swerving around a slow-moving delivery truck. “You are way too tense for someone who is just playing the part of a fake girlfriend.”

Mia went completely silent. She looked at him. His jaw was clenched tight, a vein pulsing in his neck, his eyes wide with a protective fear that was undeniably real.

The realization hit her like a second bolt of electricity: He actually cares. He’s terrified for me.

By the time they reached the hospital, Alexander refused to leave her side. He stood like a towering, imposing bodyguard in the tiny emergency room bay while the doctor cleaned and bandaged the burn on her hand.

“You’re very lucky,” the doctor noted, taping down the gauze. “The current didn’t cross your chest. It’s superficial. Keep it dry, and it’ll heal in a week.”

Once the doctor stepped out, the small hospital room grew suffocatingly quiet. Alexander stood at the foot of the bed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at her bandaged hand.

“See?” Mia offered a weak, tired smile. “I told you. Not a big deal.”

Alexander stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He leaned over the bed, his face inches from hers, the anger finally bleeding out of him, leaving only raw exhaustion.

“Do not ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, thick with emotion. “If something is broken, let it burn. Do not put yourself in danger in my house. Do you understand me?”

Mia’s breath caught in her throat. The smell of his cologne, the intensity in his dark eyes—it was entirely too much. “I… I’m used to fixing my own problems, Alexander. When you don’t have money, you figure it out. You survive.”

“You don’t have to survive on your own here,” he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. “Not anymore.”

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