LOGINThree days.It had been three days since the night Alexander almost kissed me — or maybe he did and simply didn’t allow our lips to touch. Three days since his breath brushed mine, since his hands held my waist like he couldn’t let go, since he said next time, be prepared for what comes with it.And I was still not prepared.We hadn’t spoken about it. Not once. Not in passing, not by accident, not even through the small glances that sometimes slipped when we thought the other wasn’t looking.If anything, he’d grown colder.Not cruel — just distant. Untouchable.As if he regretted letting the night touch him at all.And I wasn’t sure which was worse:His coldness…or the fact that I wanted to thaw it.But Isabella?She noticed everything.She had eyes like a hawk, always watching, always calculating, always waiting for the perfect angle to sink in her claws. And with Alexander pulling back to rebuild whatever walls I’d cracked, Isabella found a space to slip through.The first sign cam
I didn’t sleep that night.After leaving Alexander’s study, I returned to my room, shut the door, and pressed my back against it until my breathing steadied. But even then, I couldn’t quiet the pounding in my chest or the echo of his voice — low, dangerous, intimate — telling me to stay.Stay… even if it kills me.I lay in bed, tossing beneath satin sheets, replaying every moment, every word, the heat of his breath brushing my ear, the weight of his eyes on my skin. My body remembered what my mind tried to forget.At some point, I gave up trying to sleep. I slipped out of bed and wandered down the hall toward the kitchen, hoping cold water might help.That’s when I saw him.Alexander.Standing alone in the dim light of the living room, sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie lay abandoned on the couch. His hair was slightly mussed, as though he’d dragged his fingers through it too many times.He looked… human. Still lethal, still sharp, b
I found him in his study.The heavy oak doors loomed before me, shut tight like a warning. A part of me wanted to turn back, to retreat into the cold safety of silence. But another part — the fiercer part that Isabella had awakened with her venom — refused to let her win.I pushed the doors open without knocking.Alexander stood by the window, framed in pale moonlight, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. His reflection glimmered in the glass pane — tall, broad, immovable. He didn’t turn when I entered.“You’re brave,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, “or foolish, to come here without being summoned.”My breath caught, but I steadied it. “You left me no choice.”He finally turned, his eyes locking onto mine. They were unreadable, cold and sharp like shards of ice. “Everyone has a choice, Elena. You chose poorly tonight.”“I didn’t betray you.” My voice trembled, but I held his gaze. “I never would.”He sipped his drink, slow and deliberate, as though weighi
The dining room had never felt so vast, so suffocating, so cold. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting light across polished silver and crystal glasses, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. The air was thick, humming with tension that seemed to coil around my throat.I stood in the doorway, my pulse pounding, while Isabella sipped her wine like a queen savoring her triumph.I forced my voice to stay steady. “What conversation?”Her smile deepened, sharp as glass. “The one between you and Mr. Harrington. He works in accounting, doesn’t he? Such a chatty man. He said you seemed… unusually curious about Alexander’s current negotiations.”My stomach dropped. Harrington. Yes, I’d spoken to him briefly in the hall, a polite exchange about how overwhelming the company’s affairs must be. But it had been harmless. Nothing more than small talk.Isabella leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “Of course, curiosity is one thing. But asking about numbers, about projected deals? That sounds less like c
I had always thought silence was my safest refuge. Growing up in a house where raised voices were rare, I learned quickly that stillness could shield you from storms. But silence with Alexander King was different. It wasn’t safety. It was suffocating. It pressed against me, filled every space between us until I wanted to claw at the air just to breathe again.Our marriage had been nothing more than a contract on paper, a shield for him and a cage for me. Yet the longer I lived under his roof, the more the lines blurred between obligation and something far more dangerous.That night, I found myself in the drawing room, seated by the grand piano though I couldn’t play a single note. The firelight flickered across the polished black surface, and I stared at my reflection—my face pale, my eyes haunted.The door creaked open, and I didn’t need to look up to know it was him. His presence filled a room long before his footsteps did.“Elena,” he said, my name low and rough in his voice.I lif
I had never realized how loud silence could be until I lived in Alexander’s mansion.The walls were too pristine, the chandeliers too polished, the marble too cold. Even the staff moved like shadows—polite, efficient, and distant—leaving only the echo of my thoughts to fill the emptiness.And lately, those thoughts had been consumed by him.Alexander.The man who was my husband, but not really my husband. My protector, but also my jailer. The man whose presence ignited a fire in me, and whose absence left me drowning in frost.We had been circling each other for weeks—teetering on the edge of something that wasn’t quite love, wasn’t quite war. A slow burn, dangerous and intoxicating. One moment he’d look at me with eyes that softened the iron mask he always wore, and the next he’d pull away as though I carried poison.And Isabella had noticed.I should have expected it. Alexander’s younger sister had always watched me like a hawk, her disdain sharpened into something more lethal than







