Chapter 5: Bound by Chains

The mansion loomed before her, an iron fortress disguised as luxury.

Belle stood at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of her choices pressing against her chest.

She had signed the contract.

She had sealed her fate.

Now, she was here.

Alistair had said nothing on the drive back. Not a word.

And she had been too exhausted to fight the silence.

The butler, an older man with a face carved by time and discipline, stepped aside, ushering her into a world she didn’t belong to.

Belle stepped forward, her shoes sinking into the plush marble floors. Chandeliers glowed above her, casting golden light against the towering bookshelves, the grand staircase, the portraits of Kensington ancestors who had ruled before Alistair.

She didn’t belong here.

She never would.

Alistair strode ahead without looking back. “You’ll stay in the east wing.”

Belle swallowed hard. “And you?”

He paused at the foot of the stairs. Then, without turning:

“Where I’ve always been.”

The answer felt like a locked door.

A butler led her down a corridor, past doors that likely held centuries of secrets.

When they reached her suite, Belle hesitated before stepping inside.

The room was too grand, too cold.

The bed was too large. The windows stretched too high.

It wasn’t a home.

It was a beautifully decorated cage.

The butler left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Belle exhaled slowly.

She set her bag down, ignoring the way her hands trembled.

Then, something slipped under the door.

A note.

Her stomach clenched.

She bent down, hesitating before picking it up.

The paper was crisp, the handwriting sharp and deliberate.

She read the words once.

Then twice.

Her breath hitched.

RUN. BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

The note slipped from her fingers.

Belle’s pulse thundered.

Someone wanted her gone.

And they were willing to warn her.

Belle’s heartbeat refused to slow.

The note burned in her palm, the words searing into her mind.

RUN. BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

It could be a trick. A test.

Or a warning.

And she wasn’t about to find out which.

Her mind screamed at her, now or never.

Without hesitating, she grabbed her bag. She had barely unpacked. Good.

Her bare feet were silent against the polished floors as she slipped out of the room, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

The hallways were dimly lit, eerily quiet.

Every step felt too loud, too exposed.

She reached the grand staircase, her heart pounding as she descended.

No one stopped her.

The main doors were just ahead. So close.

She stepped into the foyer, 

And froze.

A figure stood at the doors.

Waiting.

Alistair.

Belle’s breath hitched.

He wasn’t surprised.

He had been expecting this.

Alistair didn’t speak right away. His stance was relaxed, but the intensity in his gaze was anything but.

His voice, when it came, was quiet. Dangerous.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Belle’s grip tightened on her bag. “You can’t keep me here.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Watch me.”

She turned, made a run for it.

She didn’t get far.

Strong arms caught her, her body colliding against unmovable steel.

Belle struggled. Fought. Clawed at him.

It didn’t matter.

Alistair lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.

She kicked, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Let me go!”

Alistair barely reacted.

“Stop fighting,” he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Belle went rigid.

He carried her back inside, the doors shutting behind them with an eerie finality.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Belle’s breath came fast, sharp, furious.

She was trapped.

Again.

The moment Alistair carried her back into the mansion, everything changed.

The doors slammed shut behind them, sealing her fate in polished marble and cold silence.

Alistair didn’t let go immediately.

His grip was firm, commanding, not painful, but unyielding.

He didn’t need to restrain her.

His presence alone was a cage.

When he finally set her down, her legs wobbled beneath her, her body torn between fight and flight.

She chose fight.

Her hands shoved against his chest, hard.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she snapped.

Alistair barely moved.

His gaze, calm, unreadable, terrifyingly in control, stayed locked onto hers.

Belle’s chest heaved. She was furious.

Furious that he had caught her. Furious that he was so unbothered by it.

But most of all, she was furious that part of her wasn’t even surprised.

She should have known.

There was no escaping Alistair Kensington.

She gritted her teeth. “You can’t keep me here.”

Alistair tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words.

Then, his lips curled into something dangerous.

“I can,” he murmured. “And I will.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

Belle clenched her fists. “You’re insane.”

Alistair chuckled, low and unamused.

“No, Belle,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m practical.”

She stiffened.

His eyes were unrelenting, scanning her, dissecting her, seeing too much.

"You signed a contract," he reminded her. "You belong here."

Her stomach twisted.

“I don’t belong to you,” she bit out.

Alistair exhaled sharply, his gaze darkening.

His next words were calm. Too calm.

“That depends entirely on you.”

Belle’s hands shook.

The weight of those words settled over her like a vice.

She had no power here.

No allies. No escape.

Just him.

The realization made her chest tighten.

Alistair studied her, his sharp gaze flickering down to where her fists were clenched at her sides.

Then, he smirked.

A slow, deliberate, infuriating smirk.

Belle’s stomach dropped.

He stepped even closer, until she could feel the heat of his body, until the air itself was charged.

His voice dipped lower, a whisper of silk and steel.

“We’ll see about that.”

The words wrapped around her, sinking beneath her skin, into her bones.

Belle swallowed hard.

She hated him.

Hated his arrogance. His power. His ability to make her feel so incredibly trapped.

But most of all, 

She hated that some part of her wasn’t sure if she even wanted to escape anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place where deals were made in whispers and betrayals were signed in ink.

Gabrielle Richards sat at a secluded table near the back, her manicured fingers tapping against a crystal wine glass. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes, sharp, calculating, never stopped scanning the room.

The man sitting across from her was nondescript, his face partially hidden by the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. He wasn’t the type to be noticed, which was exactly why she had chosen him.

“This is getting out of hand,” he muttered, stirring his whiskey with one lazy flick of his wrist. “Alistair’s marriage to that woman is all over the media. The Sterlings are furious. The shareholders are nervous.”

Gabrielle didn’t flinch.

She had expected this.

She had prepared for it.

She took a slow sip of her wine, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to shift uncomfortably. Then, she smiled.

“A little chaos was inevitable,” she mused. “But it’s nothing we can’t control.”

The man scoffed. “Control? You think you can control this? He’s married now. To her.” His voice dipped lower. “She’s pregnant with his child.”

Gabrielle’s fingers tightened around her glass.

That, she hadn’t planned for.

Belle Madrigal should have been a footnote. A one-night mistake that faded into obscurity.

Instead, she had become a threat.

Her lips curled. “That child is irrelevant.”

The man exhaled sharply. “Not to Alistair.”

Gabrielle set her glass down, leaning forward just enough for her words to slice through the air.

“He can never love her.”

The man blinked.

Gabrielle’s voice remained smooth, unwavering.

“It would ruin everything.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

The man stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

Gabrielle tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

Then, she smiled.

The Kensington estate was silent in the dead of night.

But silence in a house this large wasn’t peace. It was a warning.

Belle had learned that quickly.

She tossed and turned in the massive bed, blankets too soft, room too cold, walls too unfamiliar. Sleep refused to come.

And then, voices.

Low. Tense. Dangerous.

She sat up slowly, her pulse quickening.

The voices came from the hallway, muffled but unmistakable. Alistair.

And someone else.

Belle slipped out of bed, careful to keep her movements silent.

She crept toward the door, pressing her back against the wood, listening.

“…This is a mistake, Alistair.”

A woman. Cold. Sharp.

Belle’s stomach tightened.

Lucy Kensington.

Alistair’s mother.

Belle had seen photos of her, elegant, poised, ruthless. The kind of woman who could ruin someone’s life with a single, well-placed whisper.

Alistair’s voice came next, low and edged with impatience.

“This isn’t your concern, Mother.”

A sharp exhale. “It became my concern when you threw away decades of planning for a woman like her.”

Belle’s throat went dry.

Her.

She was the problem.

Lucy continued, her tone dripping with quiet fury. “You were meant to marry Evangeline Sterling. To unite our families. Not to, ” A pause, as if the words disgusted her. “, get tangled with some girl who doesn’t belong in our world.”

Belle’s nails bit into her palms.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t feel the sting of those words so deep in her chest.

But she did.

Alistair’s reply came after a long pause, his tone measured.

“This isn’t about Belle.”

Belle stilled.

She leaned in, her breath shallow.

Then came the words that broke her.

“I don’t care about Belle. This is about the child.”

The air left her lungs.

She staggered back, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

A quiet shuffle outside.

Belle barely had time to move before shadows passed beneath the door.

Alistair was leaving.

Belle pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to hold herself together.

She had known.

Of course she had known.

But hearing it, hearing him say it, 

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could physically hold in the cracks forming inside her.

Alistair didn’t care about her.

Only the baby.

She had always been alone.

And now?

Now, she knew she always would be.

Belle didn’t sleep.

She sat by the window as dawn broke, the sky turning soft shades of gold and violet.

The house was quiet.

But inside her, there was a storm.

She had let herself believe, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, she was more than a contract to him.

More than an obligation.

Foolish.

Belle exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against her stomach. Her child would have everything.

Everything but love.

A knock at the door.

She stiffened.

Then, it opened without permission.

Alistair.

Still dressed in the same black-on-black suit, his expression unreadable, his movements controlled.

Belle didn’t stand.

Didn’t speak.

She simply watched.

Alistair’s gaze flickered over her face, lingering for a second too long.

He had never seen her break before.

But she wasn’t breaking.

She was hardening.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said.

Belle tilted her head, studying him. “What would you like me to say?”

Alistair’s jaw ticked.

Something flickered behind his eyes, but it was gone too fast to name.

“Don’t play games, Belle.”

Belle let out a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s rich. Coming from you.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“You knew what this was.” His voice was quiet, dangerous.

Belle’s chest ached.

But she only nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I do now.”

Something snapped in the air between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight.

Alistair took a slow, measured step forward.

Belle didn’t move.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

A touch that should have been gentle.

But it wasn’t.

It was a claim.

Alistair’s voice dropped to a whisper, his breath ghosting against her skin.

“You’re mine, Belle.”

Her heartbeat skipped.

Alistair’s gaze darkened.

“And I don’t share.”

Belle’s breath caught.

She should have pulled away.

She should have fought.

Instead, she shivered.

Because even as she swore to herself that she would escape, 

She wasn’t sure she ever would.