Shadow's at the end

The morning light crept through the curtains, soft and golden, but to me it felt intrusive—like a spotlight exposing every secret I had tried to keep hidden. My body still remembered the night before, every shiver, every whispered word, every touch that had consumed me until there was nothing left but surrender. I lay perfectly still, my head resting on Alexander’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Part of me wanted to close my eyes and pretend that the world beyond this room didn’t exist. That it was just the two of us, forever suspended in this fragile moment. But another part of me—the cautious, guarded part—couldn’t stop replaying everything in my head, wondering what it meant, what came next.

Alexander stirred beneath me, his arm tightening around my waist as if instinctively refusing to let me go. His warmth seeped into me, soothing and dangerous all at once. I tilted my head slightly to look at him. Even in sleep, he looked powerful, commanding, untouchable. But last night had shown me a different side—one that was vulnerable, almost broken in its need. A side that belonged only to me.

And that terrified me.

Because if I had the power to unravel him, then he had the power to destroy me.

---

I tried to slip away quietly, desperate for a moment alone to gather my thoughts, but his grip tightened. His eyes opened, heavy-lidded but sharp, as if he had sensed my intentions even in his sleep. 

“Where are you going?” His voice was husky, rough with sleep, yet it carried that familiar authority that made my pulse quicken.

“I… I just need some air,” I said softly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s morning, and I should—”

“You should stay,” he interrupted, pulling me back down against him. His lips brushed the top of my head in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. “Don’t run from me, Isabella. Not after last night.”

The way he said it—like a command and a plea all at once—sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t want to run. But I also didn’t know how to stay, not when my heart felt so unsteady, so vulnerable.

“I’m not running,” I whispered, though my voice betrayed me. “I just… I need to think.”

His hand slid beneath my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes met. There was no escape from the intensity of his gaze. “Think about what?”

“About what this means,” I admitted, my throat tight. “About what we did. About us.”

For a moment, silence stretched between us. His jaw tightened, and I could see the battle in his expression—the ruthless man who always took control versus the man who had given himself to me in ways I never expected.

“It means you’re mine,” he said finally, his voice firm, unyielding. “It means no one else gets to touch you, look at you, or claim you. It means I won’t let you go.”

My breath caught. The possessiveness in his tone should have frightened me. Maybe it did. But beneath it, I heard something else—fear. Fear of losing me. And that softened me in ways I didn’t want to admit.

“Alexander…” I began, but he silenced me with a kiss—slow, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that contradicted the fierceness of his words.

---

Later that day, reality returned with full force. I dressed quietly, trying to steady myself before facing the outside world. But nothing about me felt the same. My body carried the memory of his touch, and my heart carried the weight of a truth I wasn’t ready to face: I wanted him. Desperately. Dangerously.

Downstairs, the staff moved about as though nothing had changed, but I felt their eyes linger on me, curious, speculative. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I wondered if they knew. If they could see the change in me as clearly as I felt it.

At breakfast, Alexander watched me closely, his gaze following every movement. It was both comforting and suffocating. I tried to focus on my food, but the intensity of his presence made it impossible.

Finally, I set down my fork. “You’re staring,” I said, trying for lightness but failing.

“Because I can’t look away,” he replied simply. No hesitation, no apology.

My heart stumbled. How was I supposed to fight him when he said things like that?

---

As the day unfolded, the tension between us only grew. Every brush of his hand against mine, every lingering glance, every word unspoken hung heavy in the air. I tried to distract myself with trivial tasks, but nothing could erase the truth: we had crossed a line, and there was no turning back.

That night, when he came to me again, there was no hesitation, no pretense of restraint. The passion that had consumed us before ignited once more, fiercer and deeper. But this time, it wasn’t just about desire. It was about need. About claiming and being claimed, about binding ourselves together in ways that terrified and thrilled me.

In his arms, I felt both lost and found. Overwhelmed and alive. And though fear still lingered in the corners of my heart, I knew I couldn’t resist him. Not anymore.

---

Lying awake in the darkness afterward, I traced the line of his jaw with my fingers, memorizing every detail. He stirred, catching my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my palm.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tight with emotions I couldn’t name. Because the truth was, I was his. Entirely. And that realization scared me more than anything else.

But as I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I knew one thing for certain: whatever storms lay ahead, I wouldn’t face them alone.