Chapter 86 Love letter
ALEXANDER POV
When I got home, it was late, as usual. I had intentionally stayed at the Euphoria club for a drink or two, mostly because I couldn't face my wife. Every time she sees me lately, I feel her spirit dim. I don't take these long trips because I want to, I do it to give her space. But tonight, I knew she needed that space more than ever, and I still couldn't stay away. It's like I need her just to draw air into my lungs.
I'd barely reached the foyer when my sister popped out of nowhere. Her arms were folded across her chest, her eyes tracking me with that knowing, judgmental look. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Save it," I snapped, not in the mood for a lecture.
"She's hurting, Alexander," she whispered.
Those three words hit like a physical blow, unsettling something deep in my chest.
"She told me what happened at the Brothers'.
You can't keep doing this to her..."
“You know I did that to protect her, right?” I asked. Because somehow even my own sister had managed to forget the plot. “That room was full of men who would have used her against me without blinking. I needed them to see her as nothing —”
"Of course I know. But... you can't keep comparing her to Ana. You have no idea what that is doing to her. Can you just not do that?"
I scoffed. As if it were that easy.
"Forgive me, sister, because I don't know how to act when I see a woman who has my dead wife's face and is somehow acting like my wife.How am I supposed to help that? How am I supposed to stop it when everything she does reminds me of her? Even the silly things?"
I hate explaining myself, and saying that much to Vivianne was the most l'd spoken in years.
But when I say I can't help it, I mean I can't fucking help it. No matter how hard I try. It's that simple.
It is not a choice I’m making. It is something that happens to me every single time I look at Aurora and I have not yet found a way to stop it.
That’s just the truth.
"I get it, Alex," she said, her voice softening. "I know you had the strongest connection to Ana. And I know it's hard to wrap your head around Aurora's identity. But don't you see what it's doing to her?"
Heck, I did. More than anyone. But there are things in this world you just can't fix. And Aurora is one of them.
"I know she hates me," | told her.
"It's far from hate, Alex. She needs clarity. She needs to know what she's getting into-the kind of danger that awaits her."
"No danger awaits her. Nothing is going to happen to her," | snapped, my temper flaring.
She sighed, looking down at the floor. "You said the same thing about Ana..." she muttered.
The words were barely a breath, but I caught them. My blood turned to ice. "What? Say that again," | grunted, stepping into her space.
"It's the truth, Alex.” She met my eyes without flinching. My sister has never flinched from me and she wasn’t about to start now. “Whatever is going to happen is our war. Not Rory's. I don't want her caught up in all of this when she's just a replacement for Ana to you."
"She's not just a replacement. She's my wife now. She's mine. And I protect what's mine."
"Fine... Do whatever you want. But nothing must happen to her, Alex. It's better you let her go now before things get out of hand."
"Tell me to let her go one more time and l'm going to smash your head against that wall."
Vivianne went still. She knew me well enough to know I wasn't joking. She shook her head like l'd finally lost my mind.
"You're deranged," she said, breathless.
A psychopath is much better, I thought.
"Where is she?"
“Your room.” She said it carefully. “The poor girl cried herself to sleep. I didn’t want her sleeping in one of those empty rooms in the east wing, there’s no proper heating there.”
“Okay,” I said.
And I went upstairs. When I entered, Aurora was already asleep, curled into a small ball under the duvet. The lights were off, save for the dim glow of the nightlight. As I stepped in, she stirred. She woke up, rubbing her eyes, and the second she saw me, she shifted. She pulled the covers off and stood up, sliding into her slippers to flee the room.
She was going to leave. Give me the room. Walk out without a word because somewhere in the last few days she had started treating my space like it didn’t belong to her too.
I grabbed her gently, pulling her back before she could reach the door. My eyes roamed her hollow face, she looked exhausted. I could have sworn she’d lost weight, something in her face was different, thinner somehow, and I didn’t like it.
I need to feed her more.
"Stay... I won't disturb you or say a word," I told her softly.
She looked at me, her eyes full of uncertainty, before she nodded slightly and went back to bed. I went to the closet and stripped down to my boxers. I don't sleep with clothes on. When I pull Aurora against me, I want to feel her in every way. I want her skin against mine.
She has somehow hitched herself to every one of my senses without my permission and I have stopped trying to unhitch her.
I smell her everywhere. I think about her all day. That’s just what it is now.
When I strolled back into the room, I was surprised to find her sitting up. She had a notepad on her lap and was writing aggressively, her nose flaring with every stroke of the pen.
I stood there, mesmerized by her delicate features. I watched the way her brows pulled into a frown, the way her lips were clamped together, and how her hand fought a stray strand of hair that kept falling into her eyes. I fought the urge to go to her and hold the hair back myself, judging by the fire in her eyes, she'd probably kick me.
Once she was finished, she tore the page from the pad and shoved it into my face. I looked at her angry expression before taking the paper. I read it silently;
Alexander Miller. I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate your stupid perfect black hair. I hate your stupid smirking face. I hate your rich ass. I hate you for forcing me to marry you. I hate you for treating me like I don’t exist anymore. I hate you for what you did to me at that party. I hate you for calling me just a warm pussy. I hate you for embarrassing me. I hate your alive.
“It’s existence,” I corrected her as I read that line. She tilted her head in question. “You said you hate my alive. It’s called existence.”
My wife didn’t exactly have the most conventional education. She can be slow sometimes.I say that with a certain amount of affection that I will be taking to my grave.
I continued reading her little love letter.
I hate you for always comparing me to your dead wife. And I hate your wife so much. My fingers gripped the paper hard.
I hate that she’s so perfect that you can’t get her out of your head. I hate her for having the same face as me. I hate her for ruining my life.
When I was done, I folded the paper and tucked it into the drawer.
“You can hate me all you want,” I said, my voice low. “But don’t hate Ana.”
She huffed and started signing aggressively. I watched her hands keenly, my new training kicking in as I translated the movements in my mind.
“I don’t care. I hate her,” she signed.
I kept my face like stone. I didn't even know if I should sign back yet. For the first time in a long time, I felt nervous.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” was all I said.
She huffed dramatically, turned the lights off, and turned to her side of the bed. I joined her, pulling her into me like I always did.