Chapter 9

**ALINA**

The faint hum of voices carried up the staircase, rising and falling like waves crashing against rocks. At first, I thought it was part of a dream—if I’d even managed to sleep. 

My eyes stung from the sleepless hours spent staring at the ceiling, every horrific moment from the night before replaying in a relentless loop. Robert Solas and his filthy intentions, Arthur's betrayal as he practically handed me over to that monster... and then Alexander Dimitri. 

Oh, God—the message. 

I forgot to deliver his damn message.

But before I could dwell on my mistake, muffled voices pierced the silence, growing sharper and angrier with every passing second. It wasn’t just in my head—there was a commotion downstairs.

I scrambled out of bed, my legs sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion. The cold floor bit into my bare feet as I stumbled across the room, grabbing my robe in a rush. I didn’t bother tying it, the thin silk nightgown clinging to my skin offering little protection against the chill. Not that it mattered—I wasn’t planning on staying downstairs long. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

The voices grew louder as I descended the stairs, my pulse quickening with every hesitant step. My father’s familiar booming voice echoed off the walls, laced with anger and desperation. But it was the other voice—a deeper, calmer one, carrying a razor-sharp edge—that sent a chill down my spine.

Then came the sound of a crash. Something heavy—a chair, maybe—slammed against the floor, followed by my father’s pained cries. 

“Please, stop! I’ll beg you—!” His voice cracked, desperation spilling from every word.

I froze mid-step, gripping the bannister so tightly my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded in my ears as the noises from the living room intensified. 

Another loud crash reverberated through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood.

Dad!

The first thing I see as I step into the living room is my father on his knees. His face is a mess—blood streaking from his nose, a cut above his brow trickling down his temple. 

He’s gasping for air as a large man with a tattoo of a snake coiling up his neck grabs him by the collar. The man’s hand tightens, his fingers digging into my father’s neck with an almost lazy cruelty.

“Not so tough now, are you, old man?” the thug sneers, his voice deep and mocking. 

Then, with one brutal shove, he lets go. My father crumples to the floor, coughing and wheezing as he clutches his neck.

I stand frozen, my pulse roaring in my ears. My breath hitches as I shift my gaze—and that’s when I see him.

Alexander Dimitri.

He’s standing off to the side, calm and composed as if he’s watching a scene from a play rather than a man being humiliated at his feet. His sharp suit is immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted, and yet there’s something lethal in the way he holds himself—like violence is always just a breath away.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I instinctively straighten, trying to steady myself. A shaky breath escapes me as I take a step back, the weight of his gaze pinning me in place.

No. This can’t be real.

I close my eyes tightly, willing him to disappear. When I open them again, he’s still there, staring at me with that piercing intensity that seems to see right through me. I blink rapidly, my stomach twisting as the reality of the situation sets in.

Oh god, no.

Ice spreads through my veins as I stumble back a step, my voice breaking free in a hoarse whisper. 

“You said twenty-four hours.” My tone rises with panic. 

“It hasn’t even been twelve yet!”

Alexander’s lips twitch in a faint smirk, but it’s the large man with the snake tattoo who responds. He turns toward me, his brown eyes glinting with amusement as he snorts. 

“Time’s up when he says it’s up, sweetheart,” the tattooed man growled, his voice low and menacing as he loomed over my father. 

His grip tightened on Arthur’s shoulder, making him wince, though my father tried to hide his pain behind a mask of indifference.

My gaze flicked to the man’s face—sharp jawline, dark eyes, and the sinuous ink of a snake winding up his neck—but I couldn’t focus on him for long. 

The moment Alexander stepped forward, his presence commanded the room, eclipsing everything else. It was a suffocating, magnetic pull, as though the air had thickened around him, bending to his will.

“Where are your manners, Nico? Say good morning to Alina,” Alexander said, his voice as smooth and deliberate as ever.

Nico turned to me, his expression exaggeratedly serious, then broke into an overly wide grin, complete with a mock bow. 

“Oh, of course! How rude of me.” He straightened up and gave me a comical salute. 

“Morning, Alina. Lovely day for... whatever this is, isn’t it?”

The corner of Alexander’s mouth twitched as if suppressing amusement, but his sharp gaze was unwavering, sending a chill down my spine. 

"Why are you here? You said we had twenty-four hours!" I snapped.

"I did, didn't I? But It seems I underestimated how eager I was to see you again," Alexander said, his gaze dragging slowly downward, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.

Flustered, I tugged at the edges of my robe, tying it tighter with a sharp pull, and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to project a strength I wasn’t sure I possessed.

A faint smirk curved his lips, the kind that wasn’t just mocking—it was predatory. The weight of his attention sent an icy shiver racing down my spine, and I hated how exposed I felt under his unrelenting stare.

"I thought about you all night," he continued, his voice low and almost taunting, the weight of his words hanging in the air. 

"W-what?"

My stomach dropped, and I saw the flicker of shock pass across my father's face. 

For a brief moment, I was frozen, not knowing whether to be disgusted or alarmed.

Alexander caught the change in our reactions and, as if sensing the tension he’d just created, chuckled softly, a humourless sound that sent another wave of discomfort through me. 

"Ah, don’t misunderstand me, Alina," he added with a smirk, his eyes glinting as he leaned in ever so slightly. 

"I mean that I’ve been... thinking about the message I gave you," he continued, his smile turning colder, sharper. 

"About granting your father those precious twenty-four hours," he said, his gaze searing into mine. 

"It was a mistake," he continued, his tone darkening. 

"I came earlier to rectify it."

He took a slow step toward me, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. 

"Last night proved everything I needed to know, didn’t it? He had enough cash to throw a lavish party, to flaunt his wealth, yet somehow couldn’t spare a single cent to repay what he owed me. So tell me, why should I waste time offering him any more chances?"

Before I could respond, he leaned in just enough that I could feel his breath on my ear. 

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a merciful man," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. 

"Your father's time is up. And I'm here waiting to claim what's rightfully mine."