Chapter 56

ALINA

I followed Leo in silence as he led the way, our footsteps echoing faintly through the hollow stillness of the house.

We climbed the stairs back to the main level, where everything felt... too quiet.

No distant murmurs, no footsteps—just silence, thick and oppressive, wrapping around me like another set of chains.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, scraping out of my dry throat.

Leo glanced at the sleek watch on his wrist.

“Three-thirty. In the morning.”

My steps faltered.

I grabbed the bannister for support, blinking at him.

Almost nineteen hours.

I’d been locked in that basement for nearly nineteen hours!

Nineteen hours strapped to a chair, wrists raw from the restraints, legs numb from lack of movement.

The flickering light above had pulsed like a slow, taunting heartbeat—each flicker another second of torment.

And the silence…

The silence was the worst.

Not empty, not peaceful.

It was suffocating—a living, breathing thing that wrapped around my mind, sinking splinters of fear into every thought until I didn’t know where the silence ended and I began.

Leo glanced back at me, his expression unreadable.. But something flickered behind his eyes—something I couldn’t name.

“You coming or what?” he asked, voice clipped.

I swallowed hard and forced my feet to move, dragging one foot in front of the other like they didn’t belong to me.

Every step sent protests through my battered body, but I didn’t stop.

I just followed.

He said nothing else as we walked through the silent corridor, the only sound our footsteps echoing off polished floors and thick walls.

Then we stopped in front of a door.

Familiar.

My room.

No—his room.

“You should take a shower. Get some sleep,” he said at last, his voice low and unreadable.

I stood in the doorway, frozen, my throat tightening around the words I wasn’t sure I should speak.

“Um… can I stay in a different room?” I asked, voice tentative—hopeful.

I held my breath, silently praying he’d say yes.

Just give me that.

One small mercy.

My eyes were burning, and I refused to let him see the tears threatening to spill.

“Please.”

There was a pause.

Then his answer, cold and effortless:

“It’s either this... or the basement again. Your call.”

The silence that followed pressed down like a weight.

Then, a faint scoff—almost a murmur.

“Thought so.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Just turned and closed the door behind me with a soft, final click.

And just like that, I was alone.

Along with the silence.

The shadows.

And the taste of captivity that still clung to my skin.

No screams.

No chains.

But still a prison.

Still his.

I stood there for a moment, blinking through the haze, trying to remember how to breathe.

My limbs felt like lead.

My stomach twisted from hunger, but exhaustion overpowered everything else.

Numb, I reached out blindly for the light switch and flicked it on.

The room glowed to life.

My sanctuary.

My cage.

Stripping off my ruined clothes with shaking fingers, I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

The water hit my skin, warm and steady, and the dam inside me cracked wide open.

I sank to the tiled floor, curling in on myself as sobs wracked my body.

They weren’t loud—just quiet, trembling releases of all the terror, pain, and helplessness I had locked inside me.

The water mingled with my tears, washing blood, dirt, and shame down the drain.

"I cried for being trapped in a nightmare I never chose, entangled in a mess I had nothing to do with."

I cried because for nineteen hours, I had truly believed I wouldn’t make it back up those stairs.

Time blurred.

I had no idea how long I stayed there, hunched beneath the warm spray.

Eventually, my body stopped shaking.

My throat stopped burning.

I scrubbed myself raw, until I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could pretend I was clean again.

Drying off in the dim bathroom light, I slipped into a pair of black pyjamas folded neatly on the counter—undeniably placed there by the monster himself.

For the briefest moment, a fragile smile ghosted across my lips.

Sleep.

In a real bed.

A chance to forget, even if only for a little while—

But the thought snagged in my chest.

My breath hitched, sharp and sudden.

There, sitting on the edge of the bed, arms resting on his knees, eyes dark and unreadable—

Alexander.

I froze, heart crashing against my ribs as if trying to escape my chest.

The smile vanished.

My body recoiled before I could stop it, instinct making me stagger back until I hit the wall.

He was here.

Watching me.

And suddenly, I wasn’t safe anymore.

I curled my arms around myself, the fresh warmth from the shower bleeding out of my skin.

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

Because all I could think was—

Why is he here?

What does he want now?

And how the hell do I survive this time?

He rose from the bed the moment he saw me curled behind the door, panic etched across my face.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stepping toward me slowly.

“Don’t be scared. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I blinked.

What?

His voice—soft, almost… gentle?

No. No, this couldn’t be real.

My mind had to be breaking, unravelling at the seams.

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Nineteen hours, no food, no rest—this had to be a trick.

A dream.

A cruel hallucination.

“You… your…”

I stammered, breath catching, unable to finish. My vision spun as he took another step closer, a small, almost sweet smile tugging at his lips.

Sweet.

From him.

I must’ve truly lost it.

My legs gave out beneath me, and just before I collapsed to the floor, strong arms caught me. In one swift motion, he pulled me to his chest.

I flinched, trying to push away from him, but he didn’t let go.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his voice brushing against my ear.

“You’re exhausted. Struggling won’t get you anywhere.”

I kicked weakly, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Let me go—”

His grip tightened, not rough, but unyielding.

“Behave,” he warned, his voice dropping an octave, colder now.

“Unless you’d rather go back to the basement.”

I froze.

That silence was all he needed.

Without another word, he carried me to the bed and sat down, dragging me gently onto his lap.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I was too stunned, too disoriented to fight anymore.

My eyes darted to the first aid kit resting beside him, confusion threading through the fear.

He opened it and pulled out a few supplies—bandages, antiseptic wipes—his movements precise and quiet.

Then he looked up, and our eyes met.

And I saw it—real, unmistakable—his eyes glistened.

Not with rage.

But with something else.

Something I didn’t have a name for.

Emotion?

I must be dreaming.

Alexander didn't express emotions.

He reached for my hands and rested them gently on his knees. I watched numbly as he unwrapped the antiseptic wipe.

The moment it touched my raw, bruised wrist, I hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” he murmured quickly, almost under his breath.

Sorry?

My breath stilled.

Then, as if to soothe the sting, he bent his head and blew softly against the burning skin. The pain dulled under the unexpected tenderness of it.

My eyes fluttered shut, a frown tugging at my brow. None of this made sense—absolutely none of it.

Had he been hit on the head before coming in here, or was I the one losing my mind?

Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around my wrist, the material snug but gentle.

His fingers brushed over it once.

A lingering touch.

“There. All done,” he whispered.

And for one disoriented, broken second—I didn’t know whether I wanted to run or cry.

I opened my eyes slowly, my lashes heavy with disbelief, and found him still there—too close, too gentle.

Why was he doing this?

My breath caught as he brought my wrists up, his gaze fixed on the raw, bandaged skin like it meant something to him.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to one wrist… then the other.

I froze.

My mouth parted, but no sound came.

My mind couldn’t keep up.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

A man like him—a man who killed without flinching, who locked me in the dark for hours without a shred of remorse—was now kissing the wounds he gave me?

“Does it hurt?” he murmured, lips brushing the inside of my wrist as he spoke.

I forgot how to breathe.

My chest rose in short, uneven gasps, the room spinning slightly as I stared at him like he’d sprouted horns and wings.

He was worried?

Worried if it hurt.

Him.

The man who wielded pain like a language—was asking me if it hurt?

No.

No, this had to be a trick.

Some twisted, calculated mind game.

He was toying with me.

I’d seen what he was capable of—cold rage, ruthless violence.

This couldn’t be real.

And yet… his touch remained featherlight, and his gaze hadn’t left mine.

I was in shock.

I had to be—because clearly, my sanity had finally taken a vacation, and my brain was playing cruel tricks on me. Right? Yeah, definitely just a hallucination. My brain was probably on strike.

My heart thudded violently in my chest, too loud, too fast, as I sat paralysed on his lap, still feeling the ghost of his lips on my skin.

None of this made sense.

And the scariest part?

A tiny part of me wanted to believe it was real.