Chapter -14 Crossing the Line

It was a somber weekend, and there was deception in the quiet. Alexander had vowed himself he would keep Isabella safe no matter what, but nothing would ready him for the fear he was consumed by each time his telephone pulsed.

Isabella had urged a subdued evening of dinner, a little escape from the city's darkness. It was almost as if, for at least a minute, everything would be okay until you stepped inside the restaurant.

There was a woman of hard-featured and hungry eyes sitting at the corner booth, her eyes looking at them. Cassandra.

Alexander froze. Every instinct screamed to pull Isabella away, but she hadn’t noticed the danger yet.

"Alexander?" Isabella hissed, looking after him. She grasped his hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. "You know her?"

He didn't respond right away. He didn't want to alarm her, but her question was worthy of honesty. "Yes. And she's trouble. Deadly trouble."

Cassandra didn't move, but a ruthless, cold smile played at her lips. She didn't approach them not at first but her presence alone was enough to bring on Alexander's nerves.

As they attempted to eat their dinner, Cassandra's eyes never departed from them. Everything Isabella laughed at, every motion, was analyzed. And then there was the implied threat: a letter, folded, under their table.

Isabella took it, curiosity and fear blending on her face. The message stated:

"She's yours for the moment. However, your past is waiting, and I always collect what belongs to me."

Isabella's hand was shaking when she placed it in Alexander's hand. His face was hardened, his hands taking the paper. He knew Cassandra was not bluffing—she was plotting her attack, and it would be personal. "Alexander…" His sister's tone was gentle, almost begging. "We can't let her boss us around. We… we have each other now."

He nodded and leaned forward, taking her hand softly. "I know. She will not rest, however, till she destroys us, or worse."

The evening ended in tense silence. Alexander drove them home, eyes scanning each shadow, each reflective gleam of glass in the black streets. Cassandra's text was clear: she had trespassed beyond her bound.

And the war over Alexander and over Isabella was no longer distant. It was happening right before their eyes.

As soon as within the confines of their flat, he fastened doors, looked at the windows twice, and stood at the balcony, staring over the city, which was now small for their peril.

Isabella came up behind him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. "We will face her together," she whispered.

He leaned his chin on her head, heart somber but determined. "Together," he repeated.

Out there, in the blackness, Cassandra's shape melted into the evening, thinking about her next step.

And Alexander knew, with dread certitude, that nothing fear, distance, the past could stop Cassandra from attempting to ruin all he cared about.

It had gotten ugly. And there were no rules this time around.

He couldn't resist. He had no other recourse than confront the past… before it destroyed everything he loved.