Chapter 29 Midnight Confessions
Snow fell steadily outside, blanketing the estate in hushed white. The clock on my nightstand read 1:17 a.m. when my phone vibrated softly under the pillow. I’d been half-asleep.
Unknown number: but I knew.
I answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
Alexander’s voice was low, rough with sleeplessness. “I can’t sleep. Come to my room. Please.”
My heart stuttered. His private wing,on the opposite side of the mansion, forbidden territory even for staff without invitation. I’d never been to his room.
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I whispered.
I slipped out of bed, pulling on a thick robe over my silk pajamas and soft slippers.
At the end of the hall stood double doors of dark walnut. One was cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling out. I pushed it gently and stepped inside.
The room, his suite, was breathtaking.
It was vast, easily twice the size of my own bedroom, with high ceilings and tall windows overlooking the snow-covered estate. Moonlight silvered the grounds below, turning the gardens and lake into a monochrome dreamscape. He could see everything from here, the entire domain laid out like a private kingdom.
The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray that bordered on black, absorbing the light and giving the space an intimate, almost cavernous feel. Heavy black-out curtains framed the windows, but tonight they were drawn back to let in the night. A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall ebony wood, crisp white linens, pillows piled high. A fireplace crackled softly opposite it, flames dancing over logs and casting golden flickers across the room.
Luxury was understated but undeniable: a sleek leather chaise by the fire, built-in bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and modern hardcovers, a bar cart with crystal decanters glinting amber and ruby. The air carried his scent, pine, leather, something wild and warm, layered with woodsmoke.
My gaze snagged on the far wall. Above the fireplace hung a huge oil painting: a lone brown wolf standing on a rocky outcrop, snow swirling around it, amber eyes glowing with fierce intelligence. The brushwork was masterful, the animal’s fur so detailed I could almost feel its texture.
Alexander stood by one of the windows, silhouetted against the falling snow. He wore only loose black pajama pants, barefoot, his broad back and shoulders bare. The firelight played over the defined muscles of his arms and spine. He turned as I closed the door softly behind me.
“You came,” he said quietly, relief softening the tension in his voice.
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into his arms. No kiss,just held me, face buried in my hair, breathing me in as if I were the only thing anchoring him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart.
After a long moment, he led me to the chaise by the fire. He sat first, then tugged me down beside him, pulling a soft throw blanket over us both. I curled into his side, head on his shoulder, one hand resting on his bare chest.
“Tell me about your day,” I said softly.
He exhaled slowly, fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. “Ben is pushing harder than I expected. He’s using marriage as his primary leverage. Presenting it as proof of stability, maturity, family values. He’s convinced three of the older members, Voss, Thorpe, Grant, that he deserves a full voting seat because of it. They’re swayed by optics, by tradition. They remember his mother fondly.”
I lifted my head to look at him. “His mother, your late wife. I realized today… I know almost nothing about her. Or about you, really. Your family.”
His expression shuttered for a moment, then softened as he met my gaze. “You deserve to know.”
He shifted, pulling me closer, and began.
“My mother died when I was sixteen. Pack war, brutal, territorial. Rival packs fighting over borders that overlapped human land developments. She was caught in an ambush while trying to evacuate pups from a safe house. I found out later she stayed behind to buy them time.” His voice was steady, but pain threaded through it, old and deep. “My father never recovered. He was alpha then,strong, decisive. After her death, he withdrew. Handed leadership to me at twenty, when I was barely ready. He lives secluded now, in a cabin deep in the northern woods. No phone, no visitors except me, and few family members. I go once or twice a year. He’s… a ghost of who he was.”
I traced a small scar on his chest, listening.
“I took over everything, pack and company. Built walls. Focused on control, because losing it meant losing more people.
Then Eleanor, Ben’s mother, entered the picture. She was human, brilliant, ambitious. The marriage was convenient. I needed a wife because my father wanted me to find someone and start a family. I chose her because she's intelligent and has a kid already. But we grew to respect each other. She understood parts of my world I could never fully share. When she died two years ago…” He paused. “Car accident. Official story. I’ve always wondered if there was more, but no proof.”
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He tightened his arm around me. “Ben inherited her shares, the shares I transferred to her when we got married, her seat’s influence. He’s been chipping away ever since, convinced I stole his birthright. Today he weaponized the wedding, to paint himself as the stable family man ready to lead. It’s working on some members.”
“And the other problem?” I asked quietly. “The one you won’t tell me about?”
His jaw tightened. “Pack business. Old tensions flaring. I can handle it.”
I wanted to push, but the exhaustion in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I nestled closer, listening to the fire crackle and the snow tap gently against the windows.
He tilted my chin up, eyes searching mine. “Thank you for coming. I needed you here.”
“I’m glad you called.”
We stayed like that for hours, talking softly about lighter things: my call with Lily, his favorite books on the shelves, the wolf painting done by a pack artist decades ago. Eventually conversation faded, replaced by slow kisses that deepened gradually.
He carried me to the bed, laying me down gently among the pillows. We undressed each other with unhurried reverence, robes and pajamas falling away until skin met skin. He worshipped me slowly: mouth tracing every curve, hands mapping me like territory he already knew by heart. When he finally slid inside me, it was deep and deliberate, eyes locked, the bond singing between us. Pleasure built in long, rolling waves until we crested together, quiet and intense, his face buried in my neck.
Afterward, he held me close under the heavy duvet, my back to his chest, his arm anchored around my waist.
“Stay,” he murmured against my hair.
I wanted to, God, I wanted to, but dawn risked discovery. “I can’t. Not yet.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Soon.”
I slipped away near four a.m., stealing one last kiss at the door. The hallways were colder without him, but warmth lingered in my chest.
Back in my room, snow still falling thick and silent, I crawled into bed with his scent on my skin.