0029

0029
  His hand was still on my waist, warm and grounding, as his breath brushed the side of my neck.
  “What was she like?” I asked in a whisper, my eyes fixed on the ornate patterns carved into the door in front of us. My heart pounded softly.
  He didn’t hesitate. “She was… a handful,” he murmured, voice low. “But Father loved her.”
  A strange tightness twisted in my chest. The thought of him being madly in love with her and still sleeping with Celeste made my stomach churn. But then again… Beatrice had been sleeping with Drew.
  “We met in Bangkok,” he said, his voice barely above the hum of memory. “When I took over Blackwood Holdings. But even then, I was already doing business with the Martin Muir. So when I found out Martin had another daughter i was… shocked. I’d only ever known Celeste, and I realized she wasn’t a fan of bragging about being a twin.”
  He paused. The silence between us stretched thin.
  “It turns out Joseph never really put her in the spotlight,” Alexander said quietly, his breath grazing my skin. “Beatrice always had this restless spirit traveling, chasing something new. She wasn’t involved in the business, not like Celeste.”
  He drew in a ragged breath. I stayed still, staring at the door, his warmth steady behind me.
  “I know you might wonder about Celeste, but here’s the truth,” he murmured. “No. I didn’t sleep with her. There was never anything between us… not even close.”
  My lips parted slightly, but I didn’t speak.
  “She’s the one I first knew,” he continued. “Back when I started doing business with the Muirs, Celeste was the only daughter I met. So when I saw Beatrice in Bangkok… I had no idea who she really was.”
  My brows furrowed.
  “She never told me her surname,” he explained. “She was a tourist. I was there for business. We didn’t get along at first… but we kept bumping into each other. Eventually, we started spending time together.”
  A soft ache bloomed in my chest.
  “Then I saw her again. Here in New York,” he said, his voice heavier now. “She walked into Blackwood Holdings for a conference. With Joseph. And Celeste.”
  My breath hitched.
  “I realized then who she really was.”
  He shifted behind me, his hand still at my waist.
  “Gratia hated her. And she hated Gratia. It was always war between them.”
  “She was sleeping with Drew,” I whispered, the words tasting bitter.
  His hand clenched slightly. “Yes,” he said, a tinge of pain in his voice. “She was. And I… I was ready to walk away. I was going to file for divorce. But then she told me she was pregnant.”
  He stopped. My stomach twisted.
  “I thought she was lying. Just another trick to stay in my favor. But she wasn’t. The baby was real. And it was mine.”
  I felt him shudder slightly.
  “I didn’t want to be the kind of man who brought a child into a shattered home. I stayed. I tried.”
  I turned slightly, just enough to see his face. He stared forward, eyes distant.
  “But then she lost the baby. One morning, she fell—down the stairs. There was so much blood. We rushed her to the hospital.”
  My heart squeezed painfully.
  “Gratia was in the house when it happened?” I asked.
  “Yes,” he replied.
  I turned fully now, forgetting the closeness. His lips accidentally brushed my forehead as I did.
  As if sensing my thoughts, he added, “But Gratia isn’t that kind of person. Don’t you think I’ve wondered that a million times?”
  “How sure are you that she didn’t push Beatrice?” I asked, my voice low, sharp.
  His silence spoke volumes.
  “You saw how she looked at me—like I crawled out of the gutters,” I said bitterly. “That woman hates me. God, I wonder what she’d do if she finds out I’m not Beatrice.”
  “She won’t,” he said firmly.
  He had that same distant expression from earlier, the one he wore in the restroom—like he was dazed.
  Avoiding his gaze, I pulled away, brushing his arm off my waist. The absence of contact made the air feel colder.
  I crossed the room. The hardwood echoed beneath my steps as I sank into the mahogany chair he’d been sitting in earlier. I felt his eyes on my back.
  Scanning the room, I tried to shift the focus, though my heart was still pounding. “So… she wasn’t brought into society because she wasn’t stable?”
  “Yes,” he said, walking slowly to the seat beside me, sinking into it with a heaviness that made the room feel smaller.
  “She wasn’t mentally stable. Joseph knew. But he didn’t want the public to find out. It came out a year into our marriage. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”
  The weight of his words pressed down on me as I shifted slightly.
  “She used to say she saw things. Heard things. Stuff that wasn’t there,” he murmured, rubbing his hands together. “It terrified me.”
  He wasn’t looking at me now. Just the space between his fingers.
  “I was scared for her,” he whispered. “I really was.”
  I shifted again, pressing my thighs together, trying to ignore the way his nearness affected me. I hated it.
  “So what did you tell her?” I asked quietly, trying to clear the tension in the air. “My mother. When you moved her to your hospital… I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”
  He didn’t answer right away.
  “You can guess why,” I added, voice trembling despite my best efforts. “You knew her name. Her maiden name. You knew her better than I thought. So tell me, what did you say to her when you met her behind my back?”
  “That,” he said slowly, “is something I think you should talk to her about. Yourself.”
  “Oh, right.” I let out a hollow laugh. “But you’re the one trying to tell me everything, aren’t you?” I raised my hands in a sarcastic gesture, frustration bubbling up.
  His silence said everything.
  “Can we go back now?” I asked suddenly, my tone shifting. “Back to the estate. I don’t think I’m comfortable here… knowing this place was her sanctuary.”
  “Beatrice’s?” he asked.
  I gave a small nod.
  “I would very much like her memory to stay alive here,” he said.
  “She’s not dead,” I snapped. “And I don’t belong here. Not in her space. This was hers.”
  “It was,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “Until she started cheating on me.”
  I blinked. “What?”
  “She never signed the divorce papers. But I had every intention of divorcing her.”
  I swallowed. “Okay. I see.”
  I gave him a half-smile, one that didn’t even try to reach my eyes.
  “I still don’t want to stay,” I said. “I can’t stay here.”
  “Why not?” he asked. “This is the first real conversation we’ve had… like actual adults. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
  He stood, stepping closer. His presence cast a shadow over me. I leaned back into the chair, shrinking slightly.
  “And now suddenly,” he said, “you can’t even stand to be around me?”
  “Yes.” I breathed the word like it hurt.
  He tilted his head. “Why?”
  When I didn’t answer, he crouched slightly, lowering himself to my level. I felt his breath on my skin.
  “Because,” I whispered, heart racing, “because I hate the fact that when you look into my eyes… you see her.”
  The words echoed in the silence words he’d once said to me. And now I was giving them back.
  He didn’t move.
  His gaze wasn’t on my face anymore. It had dropped… to my lips.
  Then, softly, like confessing something he didn’t want to admit, he murmured, “Yes. I thought I saw her when I looked at you.”
  His voice was low.
  “But like I told you before… you’re not her. Your eyes… they’re different.”
  As if pulled by gravity, his hand came slowly, deliberately resting on my thigh.
  I stared, frozen, as his thumb brushed against my lips.
  “Alex,” I mumbled.
  A small smirk tugged at his lips. “I like it when you say my name like that.”
  His hand lingered on my mouth, thumb grazing my bottom lip before tilting my chin up.
  I was turning crimson as my breath hitched.
  Gathering the last of my courage, I pulled away.
  “I need to go back.”
  “To the estate?” he asked, surprised. “Aren’t you tired of that place?”
  I hesitated, but nodded.
  He let out a breath, one that sounded almost… tired. “To be honest, I don’t even want to stay there. That place… it’s a desert to me.”
  I blinked. Did he just confide in me?
  “Did you just say that out loud?” I asked.
  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did.”
  “Okay, fine,” he added. “You don’t want to stay here with me. I get it.”
  “Alex… why are you doing this?” I asked suddenly, the words tumbling out. “Why can’t we just break this… this whole thing? The contract. Isn’t there something I can sign…. something that lets you keep your inheritance so I can leave?”
  His gaze snapped to mine.
  “You really want to break the contract?” he asked.
  “Yes,” I lied. “I want to.”
  He stared at me for a long beat. Then something shifted.
  “Why would you think I want to break the contract?” he said, his voice suddenly cold. “It hasn’t even been six months.”
  He stepped closer, grabbing my shoulders. “You want to go back to the estate? Fine. We’re going.”
  He stormed to the door, flinging it open. A rush of cold night air swept into the room. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself.
  “Come with me,” he said curtly, walking ahead of me toward the back of the house.
  Only then did I notice the car parked at the rear. A sleek white sports car that looked completely out of place in this quiet, woodsy landscape. The house felt slow. Peaceful. That car didn’t belong here.
  He opened the passenger door without saying a word.
  “Alex, wait—” I started, but he didn’t turn. Just gestured to the seat.
  “You can go in.”
  I stepped inside, and the door slammed shut beside me. A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat.
  We drove in silence, the road swallowing us whole.
  Then… my phone buzzed.
  I blinked, pulled it out of my pocket, as i tapped on the screen. A message from Candace lit up.
  “Girl!!!. Please check this out”
  I swiped up, the sudden light from my phone blasting into my eyes. Alexander was driving like a madman. I wanted to tell him to slow down…but one glance at his face through the review mirror told me not to. He looked like he could strangle me.
  My thumb moved, half-conscious, swiping the message open.
  It was a screenshot taken from some blogpost on twitter.
  At first, the image was blurred, covered by a warning: Tap to view. Graphic content.
  I tapped.
  And froze.
  My breath lodged in my throat.
  The image that loaded showed Nadia’s lifeless body. Her feet limp. Her hair spilling downward. Her eyes… another image attached of Alex dressed in a black tuxedo with his hair pulled back as he looked to be holding a woman dressed in a blue velvet body hugging gown. They looked intimate as i zoomed on the face to see it was Nadia but she looked more beautiful here and not pregnant.
  It looked more like an old image of them together in a conference or something.
  I couldn’t look away.
  The blog post’s headline was stamped in bold, all caps, blood red font:
  “ALEXANDER BLACKWOOD ACCUSED OF NADIA DOUGLAS BLACKWOOD’S MURDER? LEAKED PHOTOS SPARK RAGE ONLINE.”