chapter 5 - The wife They can't touch

The silence after the gunfire was worse than the noise itself.

It pressed in on Isabella’s ears until all she could hear was her own breathing ragged, uneven, terrified. Glass crunched beneath Alexander’s shoes as he slowly lifted his head, scanning the shattered windows, the dark city beyond.

“Stay down,” he said quietly.

She didn’t argue. Her body refused to move.

Somewhere far below, sirens wailed louder now, echoing between buildings. The sound felt unreal, like something happening in another life.

Alexander reached for his phone, fingers moving fast, controlled. “This is Voss,” he said when the call connected. “Penthouse breach. Four shots minimum. West-facing windows. I want a full sweep now.”

He ended the call and finally looked at her.

Blood streaked down his temple.

Her heart stuttered. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I said it’s nothing.”

His voice softened when he saw her hands shaking uncontrollably. He crouched in front of her, placing his hands over hers, grounding her.

“Are you hit?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Good.” He exhaled slowly. “Then listen to me carefully.”

The way he said it low, urgently sent a chill through her.

“From this moment on, you do not leave my sight,” he continued. “You don’t open doors. You don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. You don’t trust anyone unless I say so.”

She pulled her hands free. “You don’t get to give me orders.”

“I do if I’m the only reason you’re still alive.”

The words hit harder than the bullets had.

“Someone died tonight,” she whispered. “Right in front of me.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“You knew this would happen.”

“I knew it was possible.”

“And you still married me.”

“Yes.”

Her chest burned. “Then tell me everything. No more half-truths. No more contracts disguised as kindness.”

He hesitated for the briefest moment.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“My father wasn’t killed in an accident,” he said. “He uncovered a financial network tied to the board, money laundering, illegal arms transfers, and political payoffs. Enough evidence to put powerful men in prison for life.”

“And he planned to expose them.”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t get the chance.”

“No.”

Isabella wrapped her arms around herself. “So where does the proof come in?”

Alexander walked to the bar, poured a drink he didn’t touch. “Before he died, my father split the evidence into three parts. Digital, physical, and legal.”

Her eyes widened. “And you have it?”

“I have one part,” he admitted. “The rest disappeared the night he died.”

“And they think you know where it is.”

“They know I’m looking for it.”

She swallowed. “And me?”

“They didn’t know about you,” he said quietly. “Not until today.”

The weight of that settled heavily between them.

“You married me so they’d hesitate,” she said. “So they wouldn’t move against you openly.”

“Yes.”

“And if they hurt me, they expose themselves.”

His gaze met hers, unflinching. “Exactly.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “So I’m leveraged.”

“No,” he said sharply. “You’re protected.”

“That’s not better.”

Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

Isabella flinched violently.

Alexander was already moving, gun in hand, body positioned between her and the entrance. He glanced through the security monitor.

“Security team,” he said. “Stand down.”

The door opened cautiously. Two men entered, dressed in black, eyes alert.

“Penthouse secured,” one of them reported. “No sign of shooters. They fled before police arrived.”

Alexander nodded. “Double the perimeter. No one in or out without my approval.”

“Yes, sir.”

When they left, the penthouse felt too large, too exposed.

Isabella sank onto the couch, exhaustion crashing over her. Her hands still wouldn’t stop shaking.

“This isn’t a marriage,” she said quietly. “It’s a war zone.”

Alexander sat opposite her, rubbing his temples. “I never wanted to drag you into this.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

“Why me?” she asked. “Out of everyone in this city, why did you choose me?”

His eyes darkened. “Because you were invisible.”

The word stung.

“They wouldn’t look twice at you,” he continued. “No powerful family. No political ties. No enemies.”

“And now?”

“Now they will.”

Her throat tightened. “The man at the pier said my name was chosen. That it mattered.”

Alexander froze.

“What man?”

She described him the hood, the envelope, the gunshot, the way he vanished into the fog.

By the time she finished, Alexander’s face was grim.

“He was one of my father’s associates,” he said. “I thought he was dead.”

“He said there was something in that envelope.”

“Yes,” Alexander replied quietly. “And if it mentioned you, then this is worse than I thought.”

“How?”

“Because it means my father planned this,” he said. “Before he died.”

Her heart skipped. “What?”

“Us.”

The word echoed in her mind.

“That’s insane,” she said. “I never met your father.”

“But he met you.”

Her breath caught. “When?”

“You don’t remember,” he said slowly. “Two years ago. A charity exhibition. You were selling paintings.”

Memory stirred an older man with kind eyes, standing too long in front of her work, asking her name.

“He asked about your life,” Alexander continued. “Your values. Your fears.”

Her pulse thundered. “You’re saying this wasn’t random.”

“No,” he said. “You were chosen.”

A chill crept through her veins. “Chosen for what?”

Before Alexander could answer, his phone rang.

He checked the screen.

Then his face hardened.

“It’s the board,” he said.

Her stomach dropped. “What do they want?”

He answered the call, putting it on speaker.

“Alexander,” a smooth voice said. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Isabella’s blood ran cold.

“Thank you,” Alexander replied evenly.

“We were disappointed you didn’t inform us,” the voice continued. “But we understand. Love makes men impulsive.”

Alexander said nothing.

There was a pause. Then—

“Bring your wife to dinner tomorrow night,” the man said. “We’d very much like to meet her.”

Isabella’s breath hitched.

“That won’t be necessary,” Alexander replied.

“It’s not a request,” the voice said pleasantly. “If she’s truly your wife, she’ll come.”

The line went dead.

Alexander lowered the phone slowly.

Isabella stared at him. “They know.”

“Yes.”

“They want to see me.”

“Yes.”

“And if we don’t go?”

“They’ll stop pretending,” he said. “And next time, they won’t miss.”

Her fingers curled into the couch cushions.

Tomorrow night.

Dinner with the men who killed his father.

Men who just tried to kill them.

She looked at the diamond ring on her finger, its cold weight suddenly unbearable.

“Alexander,” she said softly, fearfully threatening her voice. “What happens if they decide to test how much you really care about your wife?”

His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.

“Then,” he said, “we’ll find out who survives this marriage.”

And for the first time since signing the contract, Isabella realized the most dangerous part of becoming Mrs. Voss wasn’t the lies.

It was the truth waiting to be exposed.