Chapter 35 35
Alexander barely had time to breathe before the door opened.
.
He moved fast.
The phone slid into the drawer.
His hand yanked his shirt up his torso, fingers slightly unsteady as he pulled the fabric down, covering the tattoo inked across his ribs—
her face, frozen in time.
“Granny,” he said, forcing a chuckle as he turned.
She entered with a silver tray, the faint scent of coffee filling the room.
Her sharp eyes missed nothing. Not the stiffness in his shoulders. Not the way his jaw was clenched a second too tight.
“Alexander,” she said calmly, setting the cup down. “What are you at again?”
He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms like a boy caught doing something mildly wrong instead of something dangerous.
“Working,” he replied easily.
She hummed, unimpressed.
“Working?” She glanced around the study, then back at him. “Or missing her?”
His smile froze.
“Granny—”
She waved a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t play clever with me. I’ve lived too long for that nonsense.”
She took a seat opposite him, folding her hands neatly.
“There are a lot of women on this earth, Alexander.”
He stayed silent.
She began listing them anyway, voice casual, sharp beneath the softness.
“An heiress from Milan who cried when you ignored her proposal.
The Rothschild girl—ready to convert religions for you.
That oil tycoon’s daughter who offered you half her inheritance just to share your name.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“They’re all alive. All beautiful. All willing to die for you.”
His fingers curled slowly into his palm.
“And yet,” she continued, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “you’re still chasing a ghost.”
The word hit him harder than expected.
Granny sighed. “For all you know, that girl might even be dead.”
The room changed.
Alexander’s breath stopped.
Something dark and violent flashed across his face—raw, . His hand slammed onto the desk so hard the coffee cup rattled.
“Don’t,” he said sharply.
Granny blinked—but didn’t retreat.
“You don’t know that,” he continued, voice low, dangerous. “You don’t say that.”
His chest rose and fell once. Twice.
His eyes burned, red-rimmed, like a man holding onto sanity by his teeth.
“She’s alive,” he said, each word deliberate. “I would know if she wasn’t.”
Granny studied him for a long moment.
Then, quietly:
“You’ve already lost enough, my boy.”
He looked away.
The silence stretched, heavy and brittle.
Finally, she stood, touching his shoulder gently before leaving the room.
Alexander remained where he was, staring at nothing—
shirt still covering the tattoo,
heart still bleeding underneath it.
Alexander sank back into the leather chair, exhaustion finally dragging at his bones.
Just for a second.
His eyes slid shut.
—
Blair screamed.
The sound tore through him so violently he was on his feet in an instant—but in the vision, his body wouldn’t move. His legs were heavy and useless.
“Blair—” he tried to shout, but no sound came out.
She was there, struggling, her wrists bound, fear wild in her eyes as hands dragged her backward into darkness. A van door slammed. The engine roared.
He ran.
Or tried to.
His muscles failed him. His knees buckled. He hit the ground, helpless, watching her disappear.
The terror was suffocating.
“NO—!”
Alexander jolted awake with a sharp gasp, heart hammering so hard it hurt. His shirt was damp with sweat. The study was empty. Silent. Safe.
He wasn’t seeing her.
It wasn’t real.
“It was a dream,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“No… no…”
His fingers shook as he reached into the drawer, pulling out a small amber bottle. He twisted it open, dry-swallowed a pill, then another for good measure. His breathing slowed—just enough.
He grabbed his phone.
“Now,” he snapped the second the line connected. “I don’t care what time it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Check in on her,” Alexander ordered, already pacing. “Eyes on Blair. I want confirmation. Right now.”
“Yes, Mr. Burke.”
The call ended.
Alexander stood in the middle of the room, chest still tight, fists clenched like he was holding onto reality by force.
If anyone touched her—
His jaw locked.
He didn’t finish the thought.
Minutes crawled by.
Alexander paced the length of the study, once… twice… again.
His footsteps were restless, sharp against the marble floor. Every glance flicked to his phone, every second stretching too long.
His jaw was tight, shoulders wound like a spring ready to snap.
Then—
Ping.
The sound cut through the air.
He froze.
Alexander snatched the phone up so fast his fingers barely caught it. A secure message notification glowed on the screen.
Image received.
His thumb hovered for half a second—then he opened it.
The photo filled the screen.
Blair.
She was kneeling on the carpeted hallway floor, one hand cradling a man’s head, the other gripping his shoulder. Her face was pale, frantic, hair slightly disheveled as she leaned close, lips moving as if calling his name.
And in her arms—
Lucas.
Unconscious. Pale. Completely vulnerable.
The drone angle was high, distant and invisible to her.
But the intimacy was unmistakable. The way her hand shook against his chest. The way her body curved protectively over him.
Alexander’s fingers tightened around the phone.
His chest constricted—something ugly and sharp twisting deep inside him.
So this is where you are.
A slow, dangerous calm settled over his expression.
He stared at the image longer than necessary, memorizing every detail—her fear, her softness, the way she was touching another man like that.
Alexander’s grip tightened.
Then—
He hurled the phone.
It smashed against the wall with a violent crack, skidding across the marble floor as the screen shattered into dead light.
The impact echoed through the mansion.
For a brief second, the study fell into a heavy, dangerous silence.
At the doorway, a young maid had peeked in—drawn by the noise.
She froze.
Her eyes went wide at the sight of Alexander standing there, chest heaving slightly, fists clenched, eyes dark .
Her breath stopped.
She didn’t wait.
The maid turned and fled down the corridor, skirts lifted in her hands, heart pounding as she ran.
“Master has started again,” she whispered shakily under her breath, fear edging her voice.
She didn’t slow until she reached the far wing of the mansion—straight to the woman everyone trusted when Alexander lost control.
His granny.