Chapter 5 – Secrets in the Dark

The ride back to the Voss Estate was suffocating.

Alexander sat rigid beside me, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles ticked beneath his skin. The crushed photograph remained hidden inside his closed fist, but the lethal energy radiating from him made the very air inside the Maybach feel electric and thin.

I stared down at the heavy platinum ring on my finger, my lower lip still tingling from the searing intensity of that forced kiss.

"Who was that photograph from?" I asked, breaking the silence in a low, cautious whisper.

Alexander didn't turn his head. "None of your concern."

"It mentioned my father," I pressed, the knot in my stomach tightening into pure dread. "Alexander, if someone is targeting my mother at that hospital, I have a right to know—"

In a flash of pure violence, his hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping around my throat. He didn't choke me, but the pressure was absolute, pinning my head back against the leather headrest.

His face was inches from mine, his steel-grey eyes blazing with a feral, dangerous darkness.

"You have no rights here, Aria," he ground out, his voice a lethal, low rumble that rattled my bones. "You are collateral. You are a tool to settle an old score. Your father didn't just steal money from my family—he borrowed from monsters who don't negotiate with contracts. Monsters who cut out tongues and bury people alive."

My pulse hammered frantically against his palm. "What... what are you talking about?"

"Your father’s debt didn't die with him," Alexander whispered, his thumb resting dangerously over the racing pulse point at the base of my neck. "The vultures are circling. But they will find out very quickly... nobody touches what belongs to Alexander Voss. Not even to bleed it dry."

He released me abruptly, smoothing down the front of his bespoke coat as if nothing had happened. I gasped for air, clutching my collarbone, terrified by the realization that my father's ruin went far deeper than bankrupt accounts and bank loans.

By the time we pulled through the massive iron gates of the estate, dusk had settled over the grounds.

Mrs. Gable stood waiting in the main foyer as the front doors were thrown open. Her sharp eyes darted between Alexander’s grim silhouette and my disheveled state.

"Prepare the Master Suite in the East Wing," Alexander ordered coldly, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it to a waiting butler without breaking stride. "Set a place for dinner in my private study."

"And Mrs. Voss's quarters, sir?" Mrs. Gable asked carefully.

Alexander paused at the foot of the grand staircase, turning slowly to look back down at me. A slow, merciless smirk touched the corner of his lips.

"She sleeps in the room next to mine. The connecting door remains unlocked at all times," he said, loud enough for every servant in the grand hall to hear. "She will dress for dinner in twenty minutes. If she is late by one second, revoke her mother’s evening medication schedule."

My heart stopped. "You sadistic bastard—"

Alexander only turned and ascended the stairs, leaving me trembling with helpless rage in the middle of the cold marble foyer.

Twenty minutes later, stripped of the heavy bridal gown and forced into an emerald silk slip dress that felt more like liquid smoke than fabric, I was escorted down a dimly lit hallway to Alexander's private study.

The room was vast, lined with towering mahogany bookshelves and filled with the scent of old parchment, expensive bourbon, and burning firewood. A crackling hearth illuminated the shadows.

Alexander was already seated at a long, dark wood table, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand. He had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp black shirt, revealing muscular forearms marked with faint, faded scars—remnants of the brutal poverty he had crawled out of ten years ago.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the solitary chair opposite him.

I pulled out the heavy chair and sat, keeping my posture rigid. A silver platter with seared steak and roasted vegetables was set before me, but the smell of rich food made my stomach churn.

"Eat," he said, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "I won't have my bride fainting at tomorrow night's charity gala."

"I'm not hungry," I replied, staring directly into his piercing grey eyes. "Tell me the truth about the photo, Alexander. If the people my father owed money to are coming, why marry me? Why paint a target on your own back by tying your name to mine?"

Alexander set his glass down on the table with a sharp *clack*.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished wood, his gaze stripping away every defense I tried to put up.

"Because the only way to draw a predator out of hiding is with fresh, bleeding bait," he said smoothly.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. "You're using me."

"Did you think this was just about petty revenge, Aria?" Alexander murmured, rising from his seat and pacing slowly around the table toward me. "Your father didn't just ruin my family. He worked with an underground syndicate to launder fifty million dollars before his heart gave out. The money vanished. The syndicate thinks you have the access codes."

He stopped directly behind my chair, placing his large, heavy hands on my bare shoulders. The heat of his touch seared straight through the thin silk of my dress, pinning me in place.

"They want their money back. And I want the men who murdered my mother in that alleyway," Alexander whispered into my ear, his deep voice vibrating through my skull. "By marrying you, I put you under my roof, under my guard, and directly in their crosshairs. They will come for you, Aria."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the edge of my jawline, sending a terrifying shiver running down my spine.

"And when they do... I will tear them apart."

Before I could process the sheer horror of his words, the heavy French doors leading out to the balcony suddenly shattered with a violent, deafening crash.

Glass exploded across the room.

A red laser dot appeared on the center of my chest.

"Down!" Alexander roared.

He tackled me out of the chair, his heavy, muscular frame slamming me hard onto the hardwood floor, shielding my body with his own just as a suppressed gunshot tore through the back of my empty seat.