Whisper's in the Dark

(Isabella’s POV)

The mansion had never felt so alive with silence. Every shadow seemed to move, every tick of the clock grew louder in my ears, and even the air felt weighted with secrets I wasn’t meant to know. I sat by the tall windows in my room, staring out at the sprawling estate lit faintly by the moon. The gardens were beautiful—manicured roses, winding gravel paths, marble fountains—but all I saw was a cage. A gilded one, yes, but a prison nonetheless.

Alexander had left hours ago. Again.

Each time he disappeared into the night, I told myself I wouldn’t wait up, that I wouldn’t listen for the growl of engines announcing his return or the distant shuffle of men moving like phantoms outside my door. And yet, I waited. Every single time.

The house breathed with activity even in the late hours. I could hear muffled footsteps in the halls, the clink of weapons being cleaned, low voices speaking in hurried tones that stopped whenever I approached. His men looked at me with a mix of curiosity and pity, as if they couldn’t decide whether I was Alexander’s queen or his captive.

I hugged my arms around myself, restless. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with my mind replaying the image of Alexander leaving earlier, his sharp eyes unreadable, his voice clipped as he ordered his men into the dark. I hadn’t asked where he was going. I never did. Some questions were too dangerous.

Still, the silence pressed on me, and I couldn’t resist. Slipping out of my room, I padded barefoot down the corridor, the cool marble chilling my skin. The house at night was a different creature—its chandeliers unlit, its paintings looming in shadows, its halls stretching endlessly like the veins of some beast.

That was when I heard it.

Voices.

I froze, pressing my back to the wall near the study door, heart hammering.

“—he’s pushing too hard,” a man whispered, voice sharp with unease. “This kind of retaliation will only bring more enemies. You think the families won’t notice? They’ll come for him. For all of us.”

Another voice, rougher, spat back. “And who’s going to stop him? You? Don’t be a fool. Alexander doesn’t bend. He doesn’t compromise. If he wants blood, he’ll take it.”

I inched closer, straining to hear. My breath caught as the words cut through me. Retaliation. Blood. Enemies.

“Mark my words,” the first man murmured, “this war won’t end with them. It’ll burn us too. And when it does, I don’t care how powerful Alexander thinks he is—he won’t be able to shield that woman upstairs.”

My stomach dropped. They were talking about me.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp, trembling. My name hadn’t been spoken, but I didn’t need to hear it. The woman upstairs. Me.

The floorboards creaked beneath my foot, and the conversation ended in a heavy pause. My pulse raced as I slipped silently back down the corridor, heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would give me away.

By the time I reached my room, I was shaking. Their words clung to me like a cold mist. War. Blood. Enemies. And the unspoken truth that I was nothing more than a weakness for Alexander—a target.

I tried to steady my breathing, curling into the corner of the bed. The rational part of me told myself that overheard conversations were dangerous, that perhaps I hadn’t understood the full picture. But my gut knew better. These walls weren’t built to protect me. They were built to contain me.

The hours dragged until I heard it—the sound I’d been waiting for. Engines. The heavy gates opening. Tires on gravel. Then the unmistakable thud of doors slamming and voices calling in low tones.

He was home.

I leapt up before I could stop myself, rushing to the window. The black SUVs gleamed under the moonlight as figures stepped out, their suits rumpled, their faces shadowed. And then him—Alexander.

Even from here, I could see the way he carried himself, shoulders squared, presence dominating the night. But there was something else too—something darker. His shirt clung to him, streaked with what I didn’t want to name. His hands, though gloved, carried stains that no water could wash away.

I pulled back from the window, heart racing. I shouldn’t have looked. I shouldn’t have seen him like that.

Minutes later, footsteps approached, heavy, deliberate. The door opened without a knock, and there he was.

Alexander filled the room with his presence, even before he spoke. His eyes, sharp and storm-dark, scanned me in an instant, as if measuring my fear. His jaw was tight, his suit disheveled, his aura humming with violence that hadn’t yet settled.

“You’re awake,” he said simply, voice low, almost rough.

I swallowed hard, nodding. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Then, without a word, he crossed the room, discarding his gloves on the table. I flinched when I caught the faint crimson stain on them, but he noticed. His eyes flicked to mine, and something passed between us—an acknowledgment of the truth neither of us dared voice.

“You shouldn’t wander at night,” he said suddenly, tone sharper. “The house isn’t as safe as you think.”

The words froze me. Did he know I’d overheard? My lips parted, but I found no words.

“Isabella,” he said, softer now, almost weary. “Look at me.”

I did. Against my better judgment, I lifted my gaze to his, and the world seemed to tilt. His eyes burned with something fierce, something terrifying and magnetic all at once.

“I fight to keep this world from touching you,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Every drop of blood I spill is to shield you from it. But you have to trust me. Even when I come back like this.”

I should have recoiled. I should have screamed. Instead, I felt the heat rising in my chest, an ache I couldn’t name. His nearness was overwhelming, his presence suffocating and intoxicating all at once.

“Alexander…” My voice cracked. “And if it consumes you? What then? Who protects me from you?”

The silence between us cracked like glass. For a moment, his eyes softened—just a flicker, a crack in the armor. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light, as though I might shatter.

“You don’t need protection from me,” he said hoarsely. “Because you already belong to me.”

My breath caught. The words wrapped around me like chains, both terrifying and irresistible.

When he kissed me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, bruising, a clash of darkness and need. I tasted the storm on his lips, the metallic tang of a world he refused to let me enter, yet carried with him always. My fear tangled with desire, and I hated myself for the way I melted into him, for the way I craved the very thing that terrified me.

The kiss broke, leaving us both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, his voice low.

“Don’t wander again,” he whispered. “The shadows have ears.”

And then he was gone, slipping into the adjoining room, leaving me trembling, lips swollen, heart unsteady.

I sank onto the bed, staring at the door he had vanished through. His words echoed in me, louder than the tick of the clock, louder than my own racing pulse.

The shadows had ears.

And I was starting to wonder if they also had teeth.