Chapter 52

ALEXANDER

Leo finally disappears down the corridor, off to do whatever the hell he does, leaving me alone. Just how I like it.

I head toward the one place that belongs entirely to me—my room of rooms. My sanctuary.

I need a fucking shower.

That woman… she raises my temperature without even trying. A walking flame.

All sharp tongue and spitfire eyes, even when she’s tied down and bleeding. Defiant. Unyielding.

I needed to cool down—fast—before I did something reckless. Something stupid.

Like marching back down there, grabbing her by the throat and kissing the fight right out of her.

Or worse… letting her see just how deep under my skin she’s already gotten.

Stripping off my shirt, I shrug out of the rest and step under the pounding water. Hot and ruthless, just like the thoughts storming through my head.

This—this is what I live for. Solitude. No voices. No demands. No one is staring at me like I’m a god to worship or a monster to fear. Just silence. Pure, perfect silence.

But even that doesn’t last.

Because she creeps in.

That image—Alina bound to the chair, lips split, eyes burning.

She shouldn’t still be haunting me, but she is.

That look on her face.

The way she didn’t beg, didn’t plead.

Like she wanted me to lose control.

What the fuck is it about this woman?

I’ve seen beautiful.

I’ve fucked beautiful.

I’ve ruined beautiful and left it crying in silk sheets, begging for something I never planned to give.

But her?

I find myself wondering—is she okay?

Has she stopped struggling against the ropes?

Has the pain on her cheeks gone numb yet?

Is she cold, tied to that chair?

Is she scared?

Or worse… uncomfortable?

Does she think I’ve forgotten her down there?

My jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

She shouldn’t matter.

She doesn’t matter.

And yet I can’t get her out of my fucking head.

The way she looked at me—bruised, lip split, but still proud. Still stubborn.

That mouth.

That goddamn mouth that won’t quit.

She’s not even trying to seduce me, and still.

She does.

It’s infuriating.

And it’s not just her body that’s haunting me—though fuck, it should be enough.

It’s her eyes.

Her sarcasm.

That tiny smirk even when she’s hurt.

She should have broken by now.

They all do.

So why the hell is my first instinct not to punish her—but to go check if she’s eaten?

If she’s warm enough?

If she’s still breathing.

Goddamn it.

I raked a bloodied hand through my hair, frustration seething in my veins.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if I’m not careful, it’ll be the end of me.

Maybe it’s time I remind myself exactly who I am.

What she is.

Maybe I should fuck her.

Just to see what it’s like to watch those guarded eyes unravel when she breaks for me. Just to see her shatter while whispering my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

I could ruin her.

Completely.

I could own her—in every way that matters.

It’s not new.

I’ve done it before.

Too many times to count. They all think they’re different—special—until they’re not. Until they realise they were just another game, another body, another forgotten name on my floor.

Alina will be no different.

I’ll take what I want, when I want it.

Once that marriage contract is signed, I will.

Then I’ll tear her down, piece by piece, stripping away every wall she hides behind, every ounce of resistance…

Until there’s nothing left but mine.

Slowly, I felt my aching heart return to its unfeeling state.

No more wondering.

No more guilt gnawing at my ribs.

She isn't special.

Just another liability wrapped in soft skin and a venomous mouth.

I stepped into the shower and turned the water as cold as it would go. It hit me like a slap—sharp, unforgiving—but I welcomed it. I needed to cool the hell down before I did something truly stupid.

She was fire, and I was already burning.

As the icy water cascaded over my skin, I stood still, unmoving, fists clenched at my sides.

I stared at the wall, letting the coldness seep into my bones, back into my chest where the heat had settled—thick and dangerous.

This was who I was.

Ice.

Iron.

A storm no one survived.

She wouldn’t make me weak.

I wouldn’t let her.

Even if her eyes haunted me.

Even if the memory of her bruised skin made my hands clench with a need I couldn’t name.

......

I stepped out of the shower, water still clinging to my skin.

The cold had done its job—numbing the fire, but not extinguishing it.

I didn't bother with a shirt.

Just pulled on a pair of black pants, the fabric clinging to damp skin.

My muscles still thrummed with tension, a pressure begging for release.

I dragged on a pair of wraps, winding them tight around my hands, the ritual slow and deliberate—like loading a weapon.

My footsteps were heavy as I stalked toward the adjoining room—the one place I let the violence out.

The walls in there were soundproof.

Padded.

No one came near it unless they wanted to get hurt.

And tonight, I needed pain.

Mine. Someone else’s.

Didn’t matter.

The punching bag swung gently from the ceiling, mocking me with its stillness. I didn’t hesitate.

I slammed my fist into the punching bag again, the force of it snapping through my bones. The chain groaned above, straining with every brutal hit.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound echoed through the room like thunder—violent and constant, a rhythm of fury I couldn't break.

"Stupid," I hissed under my breath, teeth grinding.

Another blow.

Harder.

I felt the skin split across my knuckles, blood smearing against the leather. I welcomed it.

"You gave her space," I growled, slamming my fist into the bag again.

"In your head. In your fucking head."

The image of her face—bruised, stubborn, still defiant—burned behind my eyes like a brand.

Like she was daring me to try harder.

I hit the bag again.

Again.

"You should’ve shut her up the second she opened that mouth. You should’ve reminded hef of what you are. What you do.”

The bag rocked violently, swinging away from me like even it had had enough.

“You’re Alexander fucking Dimitri,”

I snarled through clenched teeth, voice raw with loathing.

“You don’t feel. You don’t care. You don’t let little doves crawl under your skin.”

And yet here I was—heart pounding, body burning, fists bloodied—all because of her.

I slammed my shoulder into the bag now, needing more, needing pain. She needed something to drown her out.

She was supposed to be nothing.

A transaction.

Collateral.

A means to an end.

But every damn second I let her live in my head…

She made me human.

And I fucking hated her for it.

I grabbed the bag with both hands, forehead pressed to it, sweat dripping from my brow.

"She's not special," I muttered, breathless.

"Just another girl who needs to learn who is in charge."

But the lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

Because I knew—deep down—I didn’t just want to teach her.

I wanted to destroy her…slowly.

Thoroughly.

And maybe keep the pieces for myself.

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