Echoes of Fear

Isabella’s POV

The card’s words haunted the mansion like an echo that refused to die. Even kings bleed. Will she? I had seen Alexander’s hands tremble for the first time since I’d met him, and that shook me more than the ambush itself. Because if he was afraid… what chance did I have?

---

The nights in this mansion stretched endlessly, as if time itself bent around Alexander’s shadows. Even when morning brushed the curtains with its pale, apologetic light, it felt like the night never truly ended here.

When I woke, his side of the bed was still warm, but empty.

The sheets smelled of him—cedarwood, smoke, and something uniquely Alexander. I curled into the pillow for a second, clinging to that fading warmth, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

I pulled on one of his shirts, its oversized form falling to mid-thigh, the fabric heavy with his presence. Barefoot, I padded down the hall. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder, though it had been days since the ambush.

The walls still bore scars. Bullet holes dotted the marble. A chandelier hung crooked, fractured crystal glittering like broken teeth. No one had repaired anything. And I understood why—Alexander wanted me to see this every day. He wanted me to remember that safety was an illusion.

That in his world, the walls could collapse at any moment.

---

I found him in the library.

He stood tall at the window, shoulders square, glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. His reflection in the glass looked harsher than the man himself—dark, hollow-eyed, as if grief had already carved its claim on him.

“You didn’t come back to bed,” I whispered.

He didn’t turn. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

The distance between us was suffocating. I crossed it slowly, every step heavy with hesitation. My hand brushed his arm, tentative. “Talk to me, Alexander.”

At last, he turned, and what I saw stole my breath.

Rage. Fear. Guilt. All tangled together, wrapped in a man who never showed weakness. His voice cracked like thunder, low and unrelenting.

“They want you. Not me. Not the empire. You.”

The words landed like a knife. My stomach hollowed.

“Why?” My voice shook.

“Because you’re mine.”

I flinched as if struck. “That doesn’t make sense—”

“It makes perfect sense,” he snapped. His hand tightened around the whiskey glass until I thought it might shatter. “They can’t reach me. So they’ll use you. Break me through you.”

Silence followed, thick and unbearable.

I swallowed hard. “Then let me go.”

His head whipped toward me, fury in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I thought he might roar. Instead, he whispered, more dangerous than a scream:

“Never.”

The word slammed into me, heavier than chains. He would destroy everything, even himself, before he let me go. And though part of me loved him for it, another part trembled.

---

I turned away, arms wrapping around my waist. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose yourself.”

His footsteps came fast, deliberate. His hands gripped my arms and pulled me back into his chest. His voice was rough, trembling against my hair.

“You don’t understand. You’re the only reason I haven’t lost myself already.”

My tears spilled, hot and silent. I hated myself for wanting him like this—for clinging to the man whose darkness terrified me.

---

The days that followed blurred together.

The mansion transformed into a fortress. Armed men lined the gates. Surveillance cameras sprouted like eyes in the walls. I was never alone, not even in the garden. Even a walk in the hall meant shadows following, guns tucked beneath their coats.

It should have made me feel safe. Instead, it suffocated me.

At night, I wandered the halls, my bare feet echoing against marble, reminding me of my isolation. The mansion felt alive, humming with secrets I was never meant to know. Every locked door whispered lies. Every corner reminded me that I was both treasured and imprisoned.

And Alexander… he grew darker.

He came home later each night, his knuckles split, his eyes bloodshot, his silence louder than any scream. The man who once whispered to me with tenderness now sat across from me at dinner with shadows in his gaze.

The duality shredded me. How could I love both the man who touched me like porcelain and the man who painted his hands red in the shadows?

---

One evening, I caught him on the balcony. His phone was pressed to his ear, his voice sharp.

“Find them. I don’t care how. Names, locations, graves—bring me something.”

He saw me then and ended the call with a snap. His mask slipped for just a second, exhaustion leaking through.

I approached. “Alexander…”

He dropped the phone and pulled me to him as if I were air and he was drowning. His breath shuddered against my neck.

“You can’t leave my sight. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The words fell from my lips before I could think, but in my heart, I knew promises were fragile here.

---

That night, I dreamed of fire.

The mansion in flames, smoke choking me. Shadows dragging me through broken glass while Alexander’s voice roared, furious, distant.

I woke with a scream strangled in my throat, sweat clinging to me. The bed was empty. Again.

I followed the faint sound of footsteps until I reached the cellar.

The smell hit me first—copper, sharp, undeniable.

Then I saw him.

Alexander stood over a broken body, his hands drenched, his chest rising and falling with violence. His eyes burned wild, unrecognizable, his mouth twisted into something that was both agony and rage.

He looked like a god of death.

When he saw me, his face changed. For a flicker, shame cut through his mask.

I stepped back, hand to my mouth. “What are you becoming?”

His voice cracked, raw and hollow. “Exactly what I swore I’d never let you see.”

---

The silence after was unbearable. My heart wanted to run to him, to hold him, to beg him to stop. But my fear rooted me in place.

And that was when I realized something terrifying.

I was already in too deep.

No matter how much his darkness frightened me… I loved him more.

---

But love doesn’t silence fate.

That night, as the mansion slipped into uneasy quiet, I stood by the window, staring into the woods. The shadows seemed thicker, alive. My skin prickled, an instinct I couldn’t shake.

And then it happened.

The sharp crack of a rifle split the night.

Glass exploded around me.

Screams tore from the hall. Men shouted, boots thundered against the floor.

Alexander’s voice roared my name.

I turned just in time to see him charging toward me, his eyes wide, his body a shield.

The world slowed to a single moment.

The muzzle flash in the trees.

The shattering of glass.

The fury in his eyes as he shoved me to the ground.

And then—darkness.