Chapter 98 You're Filthy
Alexander hadn't expected it.
At first, the woman beneath him stiffened, startled, her hands pressing weakly against his chest. But the resistance faltered. Her body began to relax, breath catching as she hesitated... then yielded.
It was the kind of surrender born not of desire, but of survival—like a bird trembling in the hunter's grasp, leaning into him just enough to keep the blow from falling harder.
That compliance didn't soothe him. It fanned the fire in his chest until it burned hotter, wilder... impossible to contain.
She was too much like the secret image buried in the deepest corner of his mind—the wife who would belong to him entirely, without question, without limit.
And the more she resembled that phantom, the more panic and fury surged through him.
How could this kind of trust, this blind acceptance, exist in Caroline? The woman who had stolen Edith's life. The woman who had left him with nothing but ashes.
It shouldn't be possible.
Even if Edith had never loved him, this was wrong. It was a desecration. A betrayal of her memory. A cruel mockery of the obsession that had kept him breathing.
"Darling..."
Her voice broke into his thoughts, soft but deliberate. She must have felt the pause in his movements, because she tilted her face upward, lips parting in a tentative attempt to meet his.
Alexander jolted, turning his head sharply. Her kiss landed on air.
Caroline froze. The flush on her cheeks faded, replaced by a fragile stiffness. After a long second, the color drained entirely, leaving her pale and uncertain.
Her eyes glistened, searching his face. "Darling... what's wrong? Did I do something?"
He stared at her, silent.
What was wrong? He asked himself the same question.
Was it the way her surrender mirrored the dream he had never dared speak aloud? Or was it the way she reflected back the hunger he despised in himself?
He couldn't say it.
How could he admit that his anger came from her resemblance to a woman who would love him the way he imagined—completely, without hesitation?
The thought was absurd, shameful. He couldn't even face it.
So he let her believe she'd done something else. "You're filthy. Don't touch me," he said coldly.
The words hit her like a blade. Her face went ashen, drained of color. A tremor ran through her shoulders, down her arms.
"I... I..." She faltered, lips trembling. Tears welled and spilled, scattering across the tangled sheets.
Her hands hovered in the air, unsure where to go. He still despised her... because she had been tainted, because she was no longer untouched, because she wasn't the clean, perfect woman he had once imagined.
Alexander watched her flounder, and a sharp, dark satisfaction curled in his chest. Her pain was intoxicating in a way he didn't want to name. It was like a drug—dangerous, addictive, a rush that lit up his nerves.
But the sensation didn't last. It dissolved into something worse: a crawling emptiness that spread through him like a swarm of invisible insects under his skin.
He wanted to scratch, to tear it out, but there was no wound to reach. The discomfort was suffocating.
In that silence, Caroline moved.
Her hands trembled as they slid toward him. "What are you doing?" he growled, trying to stop her.
But she was quick. The sound of metal shifting broke the stillness—a buckle coming undone.
Alexander stiffened, shock flashing through him. Before he could react, she rose to her knees before him. Her breath was unsteady, her gaze lowered.
She didn't speak. She simply leaned forward, closing the space between them in a way that made his pulse spike. The heat of her breath brushed against him, and every muscle in his body locked.
Her movements were clumsy, hesitant, as though she was learning by instinct alone. But there was no mistaking her intent—to give, to offer, to erase the word he'd just thrown at her.
Alexander's mind went blank for a moment. When it cleared, he found himself looking down at her.
Strands of hair hid part of her face, but he could see the curve of her cheek, the faint flush, the way her lips moved with quiet determination.
His hand lifted almost involuntarily, fingers brushing through her hair. The texture was rough, brittle from neglect.
Once, she had been vibrant, like a rose in full bloom. Now she was faded, petals frayed.
And yet, this faded rose was kneeling before him, surrendering without hesitation.
A shiver ran through him. The urge to push her further rose sharp and sudden—but he forced himself to shove her back.
"Caroline, what are you doing?"
She looked up, meeting his stunned gaze. "Is this... alright, darling?"
Her voice trembled. A tear broke free, sliding down her cheek and falling onto his skin, hot against the cold that had settled there.
"I just... I wanted to give you something else. Would that still make me dirty?"
He hesitated, thrown off balance.
When he didn't answer, she leaned in again. The warmth of her breath swept over him, and his chest tightened. Every nerve screamed.
The fire he'd tried to smother shattered the last of his restraint. His hand shot forward, gripping her hair, pulling her closer.
She gasped at the sudden force, but didn't pull away. His fingers tightened, tangling in her hair, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
Her eyes widened at the intensity in his face. This was a side of Alexander she had never seen—a man stripped of control, driven by something raw and consuming.
He didn't speak at first. His grip shifted, guiding her movements, each one deliberate. The tension between them wound tighter, until the air itself seemed ready to snap.
Only when the heat broke through the haze did he release her, his breath ragged. Caroline's eyes were wet, her lips swollen from the roughness of his touch.
She blinked up at him, searching for something in his expression.
He caught her face in his hands, tilting her head back. His mouth found hers, biting, claiming.
Moments ago, he had told her not to touch him. Now, he was drowning in the need to take her, to erase every inch of space between them, to make her his in the most brutal way he knew.