Chapter 42

ALINA

A little while earlier...

Alexander had been gone for what couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the door, as if his presence still clung to it—thick, heavy, and suffocating. Even in his absence, the room felt haunted by him, like the air itself had absorbed his dominance and refused to let it go.

I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to look away, tried to find something, anything, to ground me, but it was useless.

His touch lingered on my skin like a fever, the heat of his fingers seared into me, refusing to fade. I couldn’t shake the feeling of him, of the way he had undone me with a mere touch, a look.

God, what is wrong with me?

I clenched my fists, ashamed.

Why am I thinking about that?

About him?

After everything he’s done—trapping me here, holding me hostage until my father’s debts are paid—and the way he looks at me like I’m something he owns like I’m not a person but a possession to be claimed…

I shook my head sharply as if I could physically shake him out of my thoughts. Stop it. Stop giving him space in your mind. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t get to live there rent-free.

But the memory of his hands on me—the possessiveness, the way he held me like he was memorizing every inch—wouldn’t leave. It played in loops inside my head, maddening and sharp.

He’s cruel, I reminded myself, manipulative, dangerous.

And yet my body didn’t seem to care. It responded to him like it was his like it had always been his. I hated it. I hated that a part of me still felt pulled to him, drawn in by the same darkness I swore I wanted to escape.

You’re not supposed to crave the hands that cage you, I whispered silently to myself.

You’re supposed to fight. To run. To hate him.

But even as I told myself that, the truth echoed louder in my chest—some twisted, buried part of me didn’t want to run anymore.

And that terrified me more than anything.

What the hell is wrong with you? I clenched my fists, furious at myself. He’s your captor, not your saviour. Stop thinking about the way he touches you. Stop remembering how his voice sounds when it softens.

This isn’t longing—it’s survival getting confused.

At least, that’s what I told myself. But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

I shuddered, the confusion swirling inside me.

How had I gotten here?

How had I become so helpless, so exposed under his gaze? I hated myself for it.

I sank slowly to the floor, my body folding in on itself as if to protect whatever was left of me.

I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between me and everything I couldn’t control. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to shove the chaos in my head into some dark, quiet corner where I didn’t have to feel it—where I didn’t have to feel him.

But the harder I tried, the worse it got.

His touch, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something he owned and something he craved all at once—it wouldn’t leave me alone. It played on a loop in my mind, over and over, like some twisted echo I couldn’t turn off.

And the worst part? I remembered not just the fear… but the way my skin responded. The way my breath hitched. The way I felt—small, seen, wanted.

Even when I said no—even when I meant it—my body refused to listen. It was humiliating how easily it gave him what he wanted. He didn’t even have to try. One look. One touch. That was all it took.

It was like I wasn’t mine anymore.

Just a piece on his board, something he could move around whenever it suited him. He had control, and I hated that part of me—the part that responded, that didn’t fight hard enough.

Because deep down, I knew… he already had me. And I didn’t know how to take myself back.

If he kept touching me like that… kept whispering those wicked things in my ear… I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on to who I was. Every glance, every brush of his fingers chipped away at me, piece by piece. I could feel myself slipping—further from the girl I used to be and closer to something moulded by his hands.

And the scariest part?

I wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of me when he was done.

My eyes snapped open, the chill of resolve threading through my veins.

No.

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t afford to fall—not for a man who didn’t need to love me to destroy me.

I stayed there on the floor, knees pulled in tight, forehead resting against them, trying to gather the scattered pieces of myself. But it was useless. He'd touched something deeper than skin, stirred something I hadn’t even known was buried.

How had I gotten here?

This wasn't me.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who broke at the hands of a man—especially not a man like him.

But Alexander wasn’t just any man.

He was a force, a storm that tore through without apology, and I was caught in the wreckage, breathless and unsure if I even wanted to be free.

I hated the way my heart didn’t race with fear—but with something far more dangerous.

Need.

He was cruel.

Controlling.

Possessive.

And yet, when his fingers had traced my cheek like I was something fragile, I had leaned into it like a starved thing. That touch—it had haunted me long after he was gone.

I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, willing the tears back.

No. I would not cry over this. Over him.

The door creaked slightly, and my head snapped up, my heart lurching into my throat.

But no one entered.

The shadows from the hallway reached in, taunting me.

He wasn’t there.

Not yet.

But I knew he’d return.

I rose, slowly, my legs unsteady my, the cold floor grounding me just enough. I walked to the mirror, forcing myself to look.

My reflection stared back—wide eyes, parted lips, flushed skin.

I didn’t recognize her.

She looked like someone branded.

Marked by him.

I reached up to my neck where his lips had lingered last—soft, then rough. Possessive. Like he was writing his name on me without ink.

I closed my eyes again and whispered,

“I won’t be yours.”

But even I didn’t believe it.

Not when my body already was.

I had no other choice.

Arthur wasn’t coming. He never was. Whatever promises I’d once believed in were gone—faded like the freedom I used to dream about.

Alexander stole me.

For a debt.

Like I was something to be owned, kept, controlled.

This place wasn’t a sanctuary—it was a prison wrapped in luxury. A gilded cage with locked doors and cold walls that watched me like sentinels.

I wasn’t safe here. I never had been.

Not from him.

His touch, his voice, that sharp, commanding gaze that stripped me bare every time it landed on me—Alexander was dangerous in ways I couldn't put into words.

He didn’t need chains.

He was the chain.

And if I didn’t find a way out, he’d hollow me out from the inside. Twist my mind until I forgot who I was before he took me. Before he claimed me like I was nothing but a transaction.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Before he broke what little of me remained… I had to save myself.

Even if it meant running again, with nowhere to go.

Even if it meant risking everything.