Chapter 61

ALINA

The study swallowed me whole when I stepped inside—warm and heavy with the scent of cedarwood and worn leather.

Dark shelves climbed the walls, stuffed tight with ancient books, their spines whispering secrets I didn’t want to know. The heavy curtains were drawn halfway, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the polished floor.

Then I saw him.

A man, standing still as stone near the massive mahogany desk—a stranger dressed sharp in a navy three-piece suit, silver tie perfectly knotted, thick glasses reflecting the dim light.

No smile.

No greeting.

Just a cold, measured nod, like I was an appointment marked on some impersonal schedule.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Something was off.

Dead wrong.

Behind me, the door clicked shut.

Alexander stepped in, his presence swallowing the room.

“Want something to drink?”

His voice was too calm, too practised, like he’d delivered this line a thousand times before.

“Coffee? Tea? Or maybe something stronger, to steady your nerves?”

I blinked, stunned.

Tea?

Coffee?

Was he serious?

“Cut the crap, Alexander. Why am I here?” I snapped, arms crossed tightly over my chest, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Or am I supposed to decode it from your overpriced liquor and choice of wallpaper?”

His lips twitched—just slightly—as if my sarcasm amused him, but he said nothing.

Instead, he calmly poured himself a drink, the liquid swirling in the glass—

“And seriously? It’s barely past one,” I said, my glare sharp enough to slice through his expensive suit.

“Last I checked, it's lunchtime—not happy hour........”

"... ....If you think I’m sticking around to deal with you drunk, think again.”

I took a step forward, my patience unravelling.

“Whatever twisted plan this is—just spill it. Or do I need to solve a riddle before you get to the point?”

His lips curled into a slow, lazy smirk as he poured the whiskey, eyes never leaving mine.

“Have you always been this delightfully sarcastic with everyone, Alina? Or am I just the lucky one?” He smirked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Truly, it’s like unwrapping a gift—one sharp jab of sarcasm after another.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast.

“To sarcasm..... and surviving them.”

He stood perfectly composed, sipping his drink like a king surveying his court—every detail under his absolute control.

And there I stood, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

“As for the drink...”

He let the glass linger at his lips.

“There’s no sacred rule about when one should or shouldn’t drink. Morning, afternoon—it all blends together when you live the kind of life that doesn’t wait for permission.”

Calmly, he dropped a few ice cubes into a glass, the clink echoing in the silence, then raised it to his lips with the ease of a man who knew he controlled the clock—and me.

He didn’t rush.

Just let the moment, as if watching me squirm was part of the ritual.

His eyes flickered down to my wrists—lingering a second too long, like he could still see the marks beneath the sleeves.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, his voice softer now—too soft.

Seriously.

Disarming.

Almost like he cared.

Almost.

Like he was trying on concern just to see how it fit.

Leo leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to catch.

Leo muttered under his breath, leaning toward Alexander, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the bandages.

“Alexander, are you feeling okay? First the bandages, now you’re asking if it hurt… what’s going on? Since when do you care...?”

“.....What’s next? A Hallmark card?”

He shook his head slightly, like the world had tilted sideways and Alexander Dimitri had just proven he was, in fact, capable of basic human decency.

I blinked.

Had I heard that right?

Leo’s voice had been barely audible—more of a mutter under his breath—but I could’ve sworn…

No.

No, I had to be imagining it.

There was no way Leo had just implied Alexander gave a damn about whether I was hurting.

Not him.

Not the man who served silence and cruelty like a second language.

Still, I glanced back at Leo out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough, there it was—that faint, knowing smirk tugging at his mouth like he was watching something rare unfold.

I frowned, unsure.

Maybe I was just tired.

Or maybe this whole day had spun so wildly off its axis that I was starting to hallucinate kindness where there was none.

Because Alexander Dimitri was asking me if I was okay?

That wasn’t just unlikely.

That was impossible.

Snap.

Snap.

The sharp sound jerked me out of my spiral.

Alexander was standing closer now, his fingers lowering after snapping them right in front of my face.

His jaw ticked, expression tight.

“I asked you,” he said, voice lower, clipped—frustration laced in every syllable.

“Does it still hurt?”

I blinked up at him, startled. My lips parted, but no sound came at first.

God.

I’d spaced out.

Too busy second-guessing Leo’s mutter, too busy wondering why Alexander—of all people—had asked something that sounded almost like concern.

“Answer me, Alina.” His tone didn’t rise, but the pressure behind it did—coiled, taut.

And just like that, the brief flicker of softness was gone. Replaced by the cold edge I knew too well.

Was he really going to pretend to care now?

After everything?

“Don’t pretend you give a damn,” I bit out, my voice sharp and cold.

“You’re not a saviour—you’re the reason I needed the bandages in the first place. So spare me the sympathy act, Alexander. It’s insulting.”

He sighed, long and theatrical, then rolled his eyes like I was the one being unreasonable.

“I was trying to be nice,” he said, his tone dry, laced with amusement.

“A little appreciation wouldn’t kill you.”

I crossed my arms, levelling him with a look sharp enough to slice through his smugness.

“Neither would basic human decency, but here we are.”

That smirk of his faltered for just a second.

Barely.

But I saw it.

Good.

I stepped closer, my tone cutting and clear.

“Now let’s skip the bullshit, Alexander. Why am I here?”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was both annoyed and entertained.

"I thought we could sit and have a civil conversation first…" he drawled, casually.

"But since you're so desperate to know what's going on—fine. Let's get to it."

He swirled his drink lazily, and settled into the armchair with ease, swirling his drink lazily between his fingers

“You want to skip foreplay? Fine by me. Let’s get to the good part—the main course.”

He set the glass down with a soft clink, then leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was already enjoying a private joke I hadn’t been let in on.

“I’ve got some terms,” he added, eyes fixed on mine like there was no turning back.

“And trust me, darling, dessert only comes after you’ve swallowed the deal....”

Terms?

Deal?

“.....When you agree to them, you’ll be allowed to live your life as you please—within certain boundaries, of course.”

His tone left no room for argument.

This wasn’t a negotiation.

It was a demand wrapped in polite words.

“You won’t owe a debt anymore. Not collateral. Just free.”

I slowly unfolded my arms, my eyes flicking to Leo—then back to Alexander.

“What kind of terms?” I asked, keeping my voice calm, even though a hundred alarm bells were going off in my head.

Alexander barely moved—just the slightest flick of his fingers—and the man seated quietly nearby responded like clockwork.

He reached into a leather case at his side and pulled out a thick folder, placing it carefully on the table between us.

I glanced between them, suspicion tightening in my chest.

“What’s that?” I asked, eyeing the folder like it might bite.

Alexander picked up his drink, took a long, deliberate gulp, and finished whatever was left in the glass before setting it down with a soft clink on the table.

“Your future,” he said smoothly.

“Or your freedom—depending on how you choose to look at it.”

Then he reached out and tapped the folder once, slow and precise.

“Go on. Open it.”

Then he slid the top document toward me.

I grabbed the folder, fingers tense as I flipped it open.

The paper inside gleamed under the dim light, crisp and intimidating.

My eyes froze on the bold heading at the top of the first page:

MARRIAGE CONTRACT

What the hell!

A cold laugh escaped me, bitter and sharp.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I spat, voice low but charged with disbelief.

This wasn’t just some formality.

This was a trap, and I could feel it closing around me like iron.

My hands trembled, and I slammed the folder shut like it burned my skin.

I looked up, shock and anger swirling in my gaze.

“Are you seriously expecting me to sign this?”

His expression didn’t waver.

And in that heavy silence, I realised… whatever this was, it was only just beginning.