Chapter 60

ALINA

The guards flanked me in silence, their footsteps heavy and synchronised, echoing against the marble as we moved down the long corridor.

“Where exactly are we going?”

I asked, glancing from one stone-faced escort to the other.

No answer.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgement.

The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, pale and indifferent despite the hour.

It was nearly one, but I hadn’t been awake long. I’d slept like the dead—not out of peace, but pure exhaustion.

After being tied to a chair in the basement for nineteen hours, my body had finally given in, collapsing into sleep the moment I hit the bed.

Still, the dull throb in my wrists remained a constant reminder that no matter how soft the sheets or grand the room, I was still a prisoner.

Alexander....

The name made my skin crawl—like my body instinctively knew to flinch before my mind could catch up.

And speak of the devil... There he was.

Of course, he’d show up looking like he just stepped out of a damn fashion campaign—every button in place, suit tailored within an inch of its life.

Because naturally, if you’re going to bulldoze someone’s life, you might as well do it looking like royalty.

When his eyes landed on me, they didn’t just glance—they devoured.

A slow, deliberate sweep from head to toe that left a trail of heat in its wake, raising goosebumps along my arms and making my breath catch.

It wasn’t sleazy or leering.

No, it was far worse.

It was intimate.

His gaze lingered like he was committing something forbidden to memory—like he knew he shouldn't be looking, but couldn’t stop himself. As if I were a secret he was trying to keep and destroy at the same time.

Then—God help me—his tongue swept across his bottom lip, slow and thoughtful, like he was tasting the moment.

My stomach flipped, and for one terrifying second, I forgot how to breathe.

There was something in his eyes.

Something startling.

Something soft.

A flicker of warmth.

A ghost of longing.

Alexander Dimitri didn’t look like the cold, ruthless monster I’d come to loathe.

He looked human.

Real.

Almost heartbreakingly so.

And somehow, that terrified me more than all the rumours, the threats, and the bloodstained reputation that preceded him.

But just as the thought settled in—

Footsteps.

Leo strolled in with the grace of someone who clearly had nowhere better to be. Hands tucked into his pockets.

That trademark smirk played on his lips, equal parts charming and irritating.

He stopped beside Alexander, standing slightly behind him like a loyal sidekick.

Perfect.

The devil and his jester.

All we needed now was a choir to start chanting Ave Maria in the background.

But when I looked back at Alexander…

It was like none of it had happened.

No flicker of softness.

No trace of humanity.

Just stone, steel, and that damn contract.

His face was smooth again.

Indifferent.

Cold.

As if whatever I saw in him… had never really existed at all.

Still, it made me feel too exposed—like I’d walked into a battlefield wearing silk instead of steel.

I should’ve shown up in armour, not in this damn white dress that suddenly clung too tight, too bright, too wrong for a place that reeked of power plays and secrets.

What the hell was he plotting now?

Because with Alexander Dimitri, there was always a game—and I was starting to feel like the only one without a weapon.

Then, right on cue, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Alina," he drawled, his voice smooth as sin, laced with mock concern.

He tilted his head slightly, as if the civility was genuine.

"Did you sleep well?"

As if we were two old friends having a polite catch-up and not captor and captive picking up right where last night’s nightmare left off.

I didn’t answer.

I just stared at him.

His smirk only deepened, clearly entertained by the silence.

“No witty insults today? I’m a little hurt.”

There was one on the tip of my tongue—something along the lines of Sorry, I was too busy trying to regain circulation in my damn wrists to workshop comebacks—but I bit it back.

I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction.

Not today.

I crossed my arms and stared at him.

Cold.

Silent.

My fingers drummed restlessly against my thigh, the silence between us stretching too long, too thin.

Every second that ticked by felt like a game he was winning, and I hated that I was playing it.

“Cut the crappy formalities—” My voice was flat, but the edge in it was sharpening with every second.

“Why did you summon me here?”

I crossed my arms, jaw tight, already regretting every second spent entertaining whatever twisted performance this was.

His eyes lit up at that—like a cat spotting a cornered mouse.

“Impatient, are we?” he drawled, his smirk lazy, deliberate.

“I don’t have time for games, Alexander,” I snapped, the bite in my voice sharper than I intended.

Alexander’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous—like a flame catching on dry wood.

“Good,” he said, voice smooth as silk but laced with steel.

“Because I don’t play games, Alina. I win them....."

“.......And if you’re smart, you’ll remember that.”

I didn’t smile.

Didn’t flinch.

“What exactly are you up to?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Why couldn’t I have just come in my pyjamas? Why make me wear this ridiculously expensive thing, which, let’s be honest, probably cost more than my entire existence?”

I gestured to the ridiculous luxury surrounding us, my tone growing sharper.

“And then you summon me like some royal decree landed at my feet. What’s next? Trumpets? A confetti cannon? A parade in your honour?”

Alexander chuckled, low and amused.

Leo smirked, hands still lazily tucked in his pockets.

“Confetti? Hmm... something like that,” he said, voice laced with that maddening brand of mischief he wore like cologne.

My head snapped toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, suspicion flaring in my chest.

But Leo only shrugged, all faux innocence, though his eyes flicked—too quickly—to Alexander.

Alexander, of course, looked monumentally bored, like this entire exchange was interrupting his afternoon nap.

That only made me more uneasy.

Whatever this was… I was clearly the only one not in on it.

I pushed the unease down and turned back to Alexander, my tone sharper now.

“This had better not be some elaborate prank....”

I clenched my fists, heart hammering, nerves fraying at the edges.

“I’m not in the mood to play your little games, Alexander. Just spit it out—what the hell is going on?”

He stared at me for a long beat, debating whether I’d earned the answer—or just amused watching me squirm.

Then he sighed, long and drawn out, as if this entire conversation bored him.

With a lazy flick of his hand, he gestured toward the heavy double doors behind him.

“Alright, then,” he said, voice smooth and cool.

“You want answers?”

He nodded toward the doors again, this time more firmly.

“Step inside. Everything you’re dying to know is waiting on the other side.”

My stomach twisted.

Something about the way he said it—everything you’re dying to know—felt like a warning more than a promise.

My eyes flicked to the double doors, looming behind him like the gates to something I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to walk into.

Every instinct screamed that stepping through them would change everything. That once I did, there’d be no going back.

Still… I couldn’t back down now.

Not with Alexander watching me like that—arms folded, mouth curved in that maddening half-smirk.

I lifted my chin.

“Fine,” I said, even though my pulse was thudding in my ears.

“Let’s see what nightmare you’ve cooked up this time.”

And with that, I brushed past him, pretending like my legs weren’t made of glass.

Alexander didn’t move as I brushed past him—didn’t so much as twitch.

But I felt his gaze like a burn on the back of my neck.

Amused.

Calculating.

Almost impressed.

When I reached the doors, his voice followed me—low, smooth, and laced with something far too close to anticipation.

“You always did have a flair for dramatics,” he said softly from behind me, his voice smooth like smoke.

Without breaking stride, he pushed open the heavy double doors, the hinges creaking softly as they swung wide.

“After you,” he said with a gallant nod, like this wasn’t hell dressed up in manners, and I wasn’t being led straight into something even worse.

I hesitated.

Every instinct in me screamed not to take another step—that whatever waited behind those heavy doors would only pull me deeper into his game.

The guards still stood behind me like silent statues, their presence a solid wall of warning.

There was no way I could make a run for it.

Not from this house.

Not in this dress.

Not with my wrists still wrapped in the same stiff bandages from last night, the dull ache beneath them a reminder of exactly how far I wouldn’t get.

Might as well see what this monster was up to now.

So I lifted my chin, swallowed the dread coiling in my throat, and walked through the door—

—right into the lion’s den.