Chapter 49

ALEXANDER

Blood clung to my knuckles, warm and thick—Dante’s blood—but even that wasn’t enough. The rage still burned, coiling tighter in my chest, refusing to be satisfied.

The room had gone still.

Too still.

I turned—and there she was.

Alina.

Tied to the chair.

Barely holding herself upright, her shoulders stiff, her back straight like she was daring me to look away first.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Her skin was pale beneath the bruises. Her wrists were raw where the rope bit in. Her hair clung to her face in tangled strands, but she didn’t bother to push it back. She didn’t even try.

Because her eyes-those blue, bruised eyes—were locked on mine.

She flinched when I took a step forward.

I saw it, the split-second flicker of fear. But she didn’t shrink. She held my gaze, even when her breathing hitched. Even when her lip trembled.

“I guess now it’s time for my punishment…” she rasped, voice brittle and sharp.

She coughed hard, her body curling slightly with the force, and blood touched the corner of her mouth.

Still, she lifted her head. Not much, just enough to look at me through the mess of her hair.

“Go on,” she whispered.

“That’s what this is, right? I step out of line and you make an example of me.”

Her lips twitched into something almost like a smirk, though it was tired and cracked at the edges.

“So, what’s it going to be? A fist to my face? A whip across my back? Maybe you’ll break my legs for trying to run. Tell me—what kind of punishment do you have planned for me?”

My eyes locked on hers, sharp and unforgiving.

“You’re testing me—pushing every limit. But don’t mistake my silence for weakness. I’ll punish you in ways you can’t even imagine. Break you, yes. But only until you learn exactly who owns you. And when I’m done, you’ll beg me to stop—and still you’ll stay.

She let the words hang in the air, her voice low but deliberate now.

“You think tying me up makes you powerful? Will those bruises shut me up?” Her eyes flicked to my bloody hands.

“You brutalize your own men for stepping out of line… so what the fuck am I? Just the daughter of some rich bastard who threw me away like spare change the moment his debts caught up to him? The selfish bastard who throws away fortunes—and his own blood—like they mean nothing?”

Her lip trembled, blood smeared at the corner.

“I’m just collateral.”

She spat the word like it tasted of ash.

“Collateral until my father decides to crawl out of whatever pit he’s hiding in and pay off the debt he owes you.”

Her chest rose unevenly, every breath shallow—but the fire in her eyes didn’t waver.

“And you know what?” she rasped.

“I don’t give a damn.”

Her gaze locked on mine—unyielding, unafraid, glinting with defiance even as her wrists bled from the rope digging into her skin.

“Because if I ever get the chance again…”

She leaned forward as much as the rope would allow, the coarse fibres creaking under the tension.

“I will run. No matter how many times you drag me back. No matter what you threaten me with. I will run—and I will never stop running.”

Her voice trembled, but it wasn’t weakness.

It was fury.

A spark daring me to smother it.

Bound, bruised, and barely upright—she was still ready to fight me.

My jaw clenched.

Run.

She said that word like it meant something.

Like it was a promise.

Like I wouldn’t tear the fucking world apart to find her again.

I stepped closer, slow, deliberate, my shadow swallowing the space between us.

Her chin lifted, stubborn to the end, even as her body threatened to give out.

I crouched, meeting her at eye level.

“You can run until your feet bleed, Alina. Until your lungs give out. Until your legs give in. But you’ll never outrun me.”

My gaze dropped briefly to her raw wrists.

My chest burned.

Then I looked back into her eyes.

“I don’t care how many times you try—I will find you. I will drag you back. And next time…”

I leaned in, voice icy, every word deliberate.

“You won’t leave unless I let you—and if you try, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

Good.

Because neither would I.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes narrowing—exhausted, but not broken.

“Spoken like a true tyrant,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, bitter.

Her lips twisted into a faint, mocking smile, blood staining the corner.

“You think if you chain me long enough… bruise me deep enough… I’ll just stop wanting to run?”

Her head lolled to the side, but she kept her gaze on me. Barely holding on.

“I’d rather crawl through fire than stay here.”

She blinked slowly. Once. Twice.

Then, almost like an afterthought—quiet, soft, but sharper than a blade—

“My father's a grown man,” she continued, voice shaking but fierce.

“His sins are his own. He made that deal. He lied. He took your money.”

Her voice cracked—but there was steel beneath the wreckage.

“So why the fuck am I the one paying for it?”

She coughed again, shoulders caving from exhaustion, yet the fire in her words lingered in the air like smoke.

“I didn’t ask to be here. And I sure as hell am not going to stay!”

Her words hit harder than any knife ever could.

Every syllable like broken glass shoved beneath my skin.

She was shaking. Barely breathing. But still defiant.

Still fucking daring me.

I could see it in her eyes—the way they burned through me, furious and reckless and alive.

And I hated it.

Hated how that fire clawed at something in me I didn’t want to name.

Didn’t understand.

Didn’t fucking ask for.

She shouldn’t be able to talk to me like that—not after what I did to Dante.

Not with my hands still stained in blood.

Not when she was the one tied to a goddamn chair.

But she did.

And worse—she meant every word.

I stepped closer, the space between us thick with tension. Her defiance scraped against something raw in me.

"You're right. My deal was with him," I said, voice cold.

"But I took you."

Her chin twitched—just a flicker—but I caught it.

“You were there,” I said, my voice low, biting.

“You heard it yourself—when I told him I was taking you until the debt was cleared.”

I let the silence stretch, my lip curling in disgust.

“And what did he do? Nothing. Not a word. No outrage. No begging. Not even a fucking blink. Just that pathetic sigh of relief—like handing you over was the easiest decision he’d ever made. Because it bought him more time… to gamble away what little dignity he has left.”

Her breath hitched, but she stayed silent.

“He didn’t even ask if you’d be safe,” I said, voice like a knife.

“Didn’t care where I was taking you. As long as I left him alone, he would’ve handed me the keys to your fucking room.”

I leaned in, just enough to let the weight of the truth sink in.

“You think I forced this? You think I wanted this?” I scoffed, shaking my head once.

“Your father sold you the way he’d pawn off one of his watches—quick, careless, and without a fucking second thought.”

She looked away for a split second.

I saw it.

The crack.

“You want to hate someone?” I snarled, stepping back.

“Start there.”

Then, quieter, almost to myself—“Because at least I’m not pretending you ever mattered to me....”

"...You weren’t a daughter to him, Alina. You were an easy out.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” she spat.

She looked like hell—lip split, arms raw where the rope bit deep, bruises darkening her skin like bruised petals—but she still met my eyes like she was the one in control.

Like I was the one tied up.

“Alina,” I growled.

She didn’t back down.

Didn’t blink.

"What!"

She looked at me like I was the monster she’d always expected.

And fuck… maybe I was.

But why the hell did that make my chest ache?

Why did her voice—the same one cursing me—make something twist deep in my gut?

I took another step forward, hands curled into fists at my sides.

And for a second—just a goddamn second—I wanted to undo it all.

The ropes.

The bruises.

The damage.

I wanted to touch her. Speak softer. Fix it.

But my men were still there. Watching.

And I couldn’t afford to feel.

Not now.

Not for her.

Not for anyone.