Chapter3: The Woman in the Photograph

Sleep escaped Isabella. Each time she attempted to close her eyes, the image haunted her: a brilliant smile on the young woman's face, smushed against Alexander's frozen chest, trapped forever in silver.

Emily Carter.

The name was like a riddle in her head.

By the time morning came, she was more bothered by curiosity than fear. She found Alexander in the study, his coat draped over the chair edge, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through documents. Sin incarnate by day controlled, inaccessible.

"Who was she?" Isabella asked, still standing in the doorway.

He didn't even look up. "That's none of your concern."

Her fists were knotted. "You made my life your business, Alexander. You brought me into this marriage, bound me to your grudge. Don't try to say that I shouldn't question things."

His head snapped up then, eyes blazing. For one eternally tense moment, he just stared at her, and she feared he was going to explode. Instead, he crept backward inch by inch, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

You want the truth? Okay. Emily was the only one that believed in me when no one else would. She saw me when there were no billions, when there was no empire. And she's dead because of your dad."

The words strike her. Isabella stumbled. "That's not possible.".

"Oh, it's a definite possibility," he said, his voice slicing like a knife. "Your father ruined her business, her family, her life. She couldn't stand the humiliation. She killed herself."

Her chest ached with a deep, churning pain. She'd heard her father's calculated manipulations, the lives reduced to rubble under his empire, but never realized how far it had reached into Alexander's world.

"You think punishing me will make her come back?" she breathed.

Alexander rose to his full height, towering over her, eyes cold steel. "No. But hurting you reminds me she counted."

For the first time since her marriage, Isabella caught a glimpse behind his mask not anger alone, but sorrow so raw it left her trembling.

And in that instant, she understood her adversary was not just a man who desired vengeance.

He was a man haunted by ghosts.

The dawn broke over the expansive Knight estate, bringing golden light to the marble floors. Isabella was sitting on the edge of the balcony, her neglected coffee chilling next to her. She hardly slept not after what she discovered about the mysterious Emily Carter. Her name still taunted her like a ghost in her mind.

Emily. The woman in the photograph.

The woman Alexander used to love.

The woman whose death he blamed on Isabella's father.

The thought weighed upon her breast, like fetters she had not offered to bind.

She rose and walked in, her bare feet silent on the cold marble. There was something in each corner of this home that breathed Alexander's presence his darkness, his sorrow, his authority. She'd sworn she wouldn't care. This was business. A deal. But the more layers she peeled back, the more she discovered a man who wasn't just cruel he was wounded.

And she couldn't help but ask herself: what truth was her father hiding?

That afternoon, Isabella snuck into Alexander's private study. The heavy oak door groaned as she pushed it open. His scent still permeated the air cedarwood and peril. Files and folders were stacked in neat piles on his desk, but one stood out. A red folder, worn edges, her father's company seal stamped on it.

Her hand trembled as she reached for it.

Curiosity is a bad habit, Mrs. Knight."

The voice shattered the silence, low and commanding.

Isabella stiffened. She turned slowly. Alexander was in the doorway, his suit jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was devastating power etched in every line of his body. His storm-gray eyes locked hers, cold and piercing.

"I—I wasn't—" she stammered.

"weren't what?" He stepped closer, his movements slow, predatory. "Snooping? Prying into affairs that are none of your business?"

Her chin lifted, even though her heart was pounding. "You didn't lock the door. Perhaps some part of you wanted me to learn the truth."

His jaw tightened. In a heartbeat, he was inches from her, his hand resting on the desk alongside her, trapping her between his body and the polished wood. The heat of him seared through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Truth?" His voice was a low growl. "The only truth that's relevant is this: your father destroyed Emily. And now, you're carrying the weight of his sins."

His words wounded her, but she would not flinch. "Then punish him, Alexander. Not me."

His eyes relaxed for a moment only a flicker but it was gone as quickly as it started. He leaned closer, his breath warm at her ear.

"Do not test me, Isabella. Curiosity will not release you. It will bind you more tightly to me."

Her lips parted, rent between fear and some dark, dangerous allure. The air was charged, vibrating with something neither of them dared to say.

And when Alexander stepped back finally, her trembling against the desk, Isabella knew something appalling.

The chains that bound her weren't merely his revenge.

They were the chains of her own heart, betraying her with every beat.