Chapter 58

ALINA

I ate slowly at first—small, cautious bites as my eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds.

But hunger won.

Soon, I was eating like I hadn’t in days, which… I hadn’t.

Eggs, rice, curry, fruit—it was more than I expected and far more than I could finish. I ate until my stomach protested, full to the brim, and then leaned back with a soft, satisfied sigh.

Pulling the covers up, I curled into their warmth and let my aching muscles sink deeper into the mattress.

The softness beneath me was foreign, almost too comforting for the chaos in my mind.

My eyes drifted to the door again, blinking slowly as the edges of my vision blurred.

Drowsiness crept in like a fog, wrapping itself around my limbs, heavy and soothing. I didn't want to sleep—not really—but my body wasn’t asking for permission.

It was already giving in.

Still, even as my eyelids fluttered closed, I couldn’t shake the lingering tension.

The door remained in my line of sight until the very last moment, my brain struggling to stay alert.

And just before the darkness claimed me, a quiet thought slipped in—quiet but sharp.

Don’t fall for him.

I didn’t know where it came from. I didn’t have the energy to unpack it.

Sleep pulled me under before I had the chance.

....

I woke to the sound of persistent knocking, each sharp rap pounding against my skull like a drumbeat. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the comforter before pushing it away with a sluggish hand.

The sunlight hit me instantly—bright and unrelenting. I winced, squeezing my eyes shut as the ache in my head flared.

Everything felt hazy, like the aftertaste of a strange dream.

Disoriented, I blinked at the unfamiliar calm of my bedroom.

Wait… my bedroom?

I sat up slowly, frowning.

Wasn’t I in the basement?

The question barely formed before the memories came flooding back—Alexander standing over me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it.

His apology.

The warmth of his hands as he bandaged my wrists. The food.

The gentleness.

My head dropped back against the pillow with a sigh that carried the weight of disbelief. It had to be a dream.

A twisted, upside-down hallucination brought on by hunger and fear.

The knocking came again—sharper this time. Reflexively, I called out,

“Come in.”

The second the words left my mouth, my body stiffened with dread.

What if it was him?

I scrambled upright, clutching the covers to my chest as my gaze locked on the doorknob.

It twisted slowly.

My breath caught.

But instead of the man I feared, a middle aged woman stepped inside.

Relief surged through me so fast I nearly collapsed back against the pillows. My hands unclenched from the fabric and I exhaled shakily.

Thank God.

She moved with the graceful ease of someone who knew she belonged, her heels barely making a sound against the wooden floor.

She was tall, elegant, with sleek dark hair pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck.

Her blue dress shimmered subtly in the sunlight, cinched at the waist with a thin silver belt. Simple, yet pristine—like everything about her had been curated.

In her arms was a garment bag.

“Good morning,” she said with a pleasant smile, her tone polished and professional.

“Or rather… afternoon.”

Afternoon?

She walked over and placed the garment bag gently on the foot of the bed. I blinked, confused, my body still heavy with sleep as I reached for the phone on the nightstand.

12:30 PM.

My heart gave a slight jolt.

Had I really slept that long?

After everything that had happened the night before, I supposed it wasn’t that shocking—but still, the realisation made me feel strangely out of sync with the world.

“I’m Carrington,” the woman continued, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress.

“I work for Mr. Dimitri. He asked me to bring this to you and said you should be ready by one.”

She gave the garment bag a gentle pat, her eyes briefly meeting mine with a calm, unreadable expression.

I stared at her, then at the bag, trying to make sense of everything.

My mind was still groggy, sluggish as it tried to keep up.

“Ready… for what?” I asked cautiously, glancing again at the time.

Carrington tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering.

“He didn’t say. Just that you should be dressed and downstairs by one.”

My gaze dropped to the garment bag again. I hesitated before slowly unzipping it.

Inside was a dress—white, soft-looking, and delicate. Feminine, expensive. The kind of thing someone would wear to an event. Or… a ceremony.

I looked back at Carrington, brows furrowed.

“Why this dress?” I asked, voice quieter now.

Carrington gave the barest shrug, the kind that spoke of routine indifference—like she was used to people not asking questions she couldn’t answer.

“I’m just here to assist,” she said coolly, barely glancing at me.

“So if you want to be ready by one, I suggest you get your ass out of bed. I’ve got better things to do than babysit.”

My eyes widened. What the hell?

For a second, I just stared at her, stunned. She didn’t look harsh—her voice was calm, her movements smooth—but the way she spoke? Cold. Clipped. Like I was just another item on her to-do list she couldn’t wait to check off.

I sat up, heart pounding.

“I don’t need any assistance,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “I can dress myself.”

She didn’t even flinch.

Just made a note on her clipboard like I hadn’t spoken at all.

She inclined her head, a small knowing smile curving her lips—as if she was in on a secret I hadn’t been told yet.

“Suit yourself,” she said, turning slightly toward the door. Then, with a pause, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“But if I were you…” her tone dipped, just enough to carry weight,

“I’d hurry. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

She turned on her heel and walked toward the door, pausing just before stepping out.

“Oh,” she added, her hand resting briefly on the frame,

“And he said you wouldn’t need anything else. The dress will do.”

The silence that followed Carrington’s departure felt heavier than before—like the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting to see what I’d do next.

I looked at the dress again.

It hung there like a question I didn’t know how to answer.

Smooth white fabric, delicate straps, something elegant—yet restrained. It didn’t look bridal, not exactly. But it wasn’t casual either. The kind of dress someone wore to be seen.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed slowly, my bare feet touching the cool floor. My wrists ached as I moved, the bandages tugging slightly, reminding me of what I’d endured just yesterday.

What is happening?

Why the behaviour change?

Why the apology, the food, the soft voice, the careful hands?

None of it made sense—and this dress? It only made it worse.

I stood there for a second, glancing at the door like it might offer answers. My palms smoothed down the white dress out of habit, but I couldn’t ignore the way my chest felt tight with uncertainty.

Were we going somewhere?

Was someone coming?

Or was this his way of sending me home—cleaned up, fed, and dressed in something deceptively pure?

No…

That didn’t make sense.

If I were being sent away, he wouldn’t have chosen this dress.

He wouldn’t have insisted on this much care.

He was too deliberate for that.

Too calculating.

A bitter taste rose in my mouth as I sat back on the edge of the bed, hands resting in my lap, heart thudding just a little faster than before.

Whatever this was… it wasn’t casual.

And it definitely wasn’t over.

.......

By the time I finished buckling the delicate strap of my heel, the clock on the nightstand read 12:55.

Five minutes.

I stood in front of the mirror, hands trembling slightly as I smoothed down the fabric.

The dress fit perfectly—too perfectly. Like it had been chosen with me in mind long before today.

The neckline wasn’t too revealing, but the silhouette hugged my body in a way that felt… intentional.

Purposeful.

Like I was being presented.

But to whom?

And why?

I leaned in slightly, studying my reflection one last time.

My face looked calm, but my eyes betrayed me—wide and uncertain, shadowed by unease.

The thought struck again, sharper this time:

What exactly was I getting ready for?

Were we going somewhere fancy?

Was he just planning to send me home, dressed up like a well-wrapped apology?

No… If that were the case, he wouldn’t have picked this dress.

Not one that looked like it belonged at some strange, formal occasion. Not one that whispered of purpose.

A knock echoed at the door—sharper, firmer this time. Urgent.

I flinched.

“Miss?” a voice called—male, unfamiliar.

“Mr. Dimitri is waiting.”

I swallowed hard, pressing a hand against my stomach to quiet the nerves coiling there.

This wasn’t just lunch.

This wasn’t casual.

Something was happening, and I was being led into it blind.

With no choice, I opened the door.

Two guards stood outside, dressed in black.

Neither smiled.

Neither moved until I stepped forward.

Then they flanked me silently, one in front, one behind, guiding me down the hallway like a guest—

—or a prisoner.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

I didn’t ask where we were going.

Because I already knew the answer would be silence.

Or worse—smiles.

And I didn’t know which would be more terrifying.