Chapter 45 ULocked Doors, Unlocked Truths

Chapter 45 ULocked Doors, Unlocked Truths
ELENA

The rain tapped lightly against the towering glass windows as if it were hesitant fingers on a closed door. It seemed as if the world outside was attempting to reach me. But it couldn't.

I stood by the massive window of Alexander's Harrington penthouse—yep, you got it right. I was back to his penthouse, this time, in his words, it was his residential house where he would have his eyes on me 24/7. As always, Alexander's penthouse was a sleek modern structure nestled on a cliffside and situated far from the chaos of New York City. The sky stretched out in a grey-blue melancholy, and added to the pitter-patter of the rain, the sea—of course, Alexander owned a house by the seaside—could be heard crashing against rocks in an uneven rhythm, mirroring the chaotic turmoil inside me.

It had been exactly three days since I'd woken up in the hospital. Three days since Alexander had decided for me. Deciding where I stayed and all. And now, I was here.

Living under the same roof as him. Not like I didn't want to.

"More like imprisoned," I muttered to myself and tugged at the thin, cashmere sweater I wore. It belonged to Alexander. It still smelled faintly like him. Which was infuriating, by the way. Ahem.

Security had doubled. I'd noticed. Tripled even. Cameras were found all over the place. Guards too. Prescott had installed facial-recognition locks on the exits. My phone was tracked. The hipster bus house had been declared "unfit" and "hazardous," according to Alexander, who hadn't so much as blinked as he gave out those orders. I hadn't even seen Riley since. And that more than anything else riled me up. I couldn't believe I was back to being his fancy little property, locked out from the rest of the world.
Also, to my surprise, Victoria was nowhere to be found. Not a whisper of her whatsoever. Not a single heel clacking against marble floors. Not one bouncy, smug, self-sufficient bitch looking for whose day she was gonna ruin.

I'd searched. Maybe not openly, but my eyes had darted to the corners of rooms on a few occasions, my ears had tuned to every sound. Still, there was nothing.
No trace of her.
When I asked him about it, Alexander had simply replied.

"This is my residential house. She doesn't live here."

Which was... a bit strange to me. Victoria seemed like the type to claim ownership of every inch of his life.
One of the things I hated about her.
Still, something inside me was relieved.
But relief had its limits.
Especially when the man responsible for my captivity was currently sipping espresso like he hadn't upended my entire existence.

"You know... your walls are beautiful," I said flatly, leaning against the doorframe of the grand library. "Very... prison chic."
Alexander looked up from the leather armchair, raising a single brow. He wore a black turtleneck and charcoal slacks with every inch of him looking like a GQ spread come to life, irritatingly put-together.

"You're welcome," he replied coolly, setting his cup down. "Most people appreciate being rescued from collapsing into a coma in a crackhouse."

I crossed my arms.
"I never asked to be rescued."

"You also never asked to be stupid," he replied calmly, "and yet here we are."

I bristled.

"You're such an ass."

His lips twitched into a slight smirk, but there was no amusement in his eyes. Only that same storm of emotion I was growing used to. Fury. Concern. Frustration.
And something else.
Something that lingered far longer than necessary.
Something I didn't want to think too much about.

I stepped inside the room, allowing the firelight to dance across my skin.

"Where is she?" I was changing the conversation, and I knew it. It was, after all, a question that had been on my mind for a while.

"Who?"

"Victoria."

Alexander exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate.

"Gone."

"Gone where?" I pressed. I wasn't supposed to be bothered, but I just couldn't help it.

"Elena," he said, his voice shifting slightly. "That's not your concern."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You're hiding something."

He let out a chuckle at that.

"I'm always hiding something," he said and stood to his full height. "You just haven't figured out what."
My jaw clenched.

"I know you talked to her that day. The day she overheard us."

Silence.

He didn't deny it.

I took a step closer to him.

"You made some kind of deal with her, didn't you?"

His steely grey eyes locked onto mine.

"Drop it."

"No."

"Elena—"

"What did she want in exchange for keeping her mouth shut about the contract?"

His jaw flexed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

"It's not your business."

I took another step toward him, feeling my heart racing against my ribs.

"It is when it involves me."

The tension snapped instantly. He moved quickly, too quickly, and in a second, he'd closed the space between us until I had to tilt my chin up just to look him in the eye. He wasn't touching me, not even close, but the heat between us was unmistakable. Like two opposing storms building up toward one inevitable strike.
My breath hitched, and my heart raced even harder against my chest.

"She wanted power," he finally said. "She wanted to be relevant again. She wanted... me."

My stomach dropped.
That wasn't meant to affect me, but it did. So much.

"And?" My voice was a whisper.

He hesitated, searching my eyes for signs. Signs which weren't supposed to be there but which he wished he could see, the slightest glimmer.

Then.

"She proposed we get engaged."

The words hit like ice water. I inhaled sharply, my face twisting in disbelief.

"She what?" I wasn't supposed to be jealous or anything like it, but goddammit.

"She knew about the contract," Alexander continued, his voice unreadable now. "She threatened to go public, to tell my mother, the whole of New York...the same thing we're both avoiding unless I... gave her something in return. Engagement. Appearances. Control."

"You said yes?" My voice cracked.

Once again, I felt betrayed.

Victoria had won, once again.

"No," he said sharply.

"But you considered it."

He didn't speak.

And that silence—it said everything.

I turned away. All of a sudden, my hands began to tremble.

"You're unbelievable."

"I was protecting you."

I scoffed.

"No, you were protecting yourself." My voice was hoarse, but my spine remained straight. "You don't care what happens to me. You care about your name. Your empire. And of course, your baby. It's all just a contract to you, so stop making it look like you actually care."

He walked over and placed his hand on the bookshelf near my head, effectively caging me in without touching me. I felt the heat of his breath before I felt the gravity of his voice.

"You think I don't care?" His tone felt like velvet over steel. "Do you know what it did to me... watching you collapse? Holding you in my arms while you lost consciousness?" His voice dropped lower, dangerously lower. "You think this is just about a baby or a contract? Elena, I haven't slept in three freaking days."

My breath caught.

His proximity was too much for my own good. You could blame it on the pregnancy hormones or something, but there was something about the way he leaned close to me, the way his unique scent was all I could breathe in, the way his eyes kept darting to my lips while I watched him lick his lush ones.
It wasn't just me. It definitely was the pregnancy.

His eyes searched mine—scorching, storming, softening. He was fighting the urge to grab me; it was too overwhelming.
And then, as if waking from some internal spell, he stepped back and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"This is a mistake," he muttered. "Us. This. Whatever this is," he gestured to the space between us.

I swallowed hard, trying to anchor myself, to not sway under the tensed atmosphere that had thickened the air.
But I could feel it, the unspoken desire, the way our bodies leaned even when we resisted. A magnetic force neither could shake.
It was clear that Alexander Harrington wanted me just as much as I wanted him. But that was never going to happen.
And with that, I too took a step back.

"We should set rules, if we're constantly going to be in each other's space," I said abruptly in a thin voice.

"Agreed," he nodded.

"No touching."

"Fine."

"No controlling what I wear, eat, or who I talk to."

He narrowed his eyes.

"That's... negotiable."

"No looking at me like—like you're about to kiss me."

He gave me a slow, dark look.

"You'd know if I was about to kiss you."

I turned away so fast I nearly tripped.
"Asshole."

I retreated to my room.
But my cheeks were flushed.

ALEXANDER

We didn't speak again for hours.

It was already late when the door to my office opened without warning.

"Sir." Prescott stepped in; his face was pale, and his coat was soaked from the rain. "We found her. Or at least something that could lead us further to her."

I looked up from the documents on my desk.

"Who?"

Prescott's voice was tense.

"The woman who threatened John West. The one trying to uncover Case X."

I straightened slowly as every nerve in my body came on alert.

"We traced the voice to several encrypted burner calls and ran them through vocal recognition software. Cross-referenced with travel logs, financials, and hacked private registries. She's been off the grid for years—but we found her residence. The exact address."

"And?"

Prescott handed me a file.

I opened it. Inside were documents. Maps. A psychological profile. Birth records.

"She's twenty-six. No criminal record. Dropped out of college. Background in psychological warfare. Never moved countries before. The only thing missing—" Prescott paused. "—is her name."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the file.

No name?

But everything else was already telling me enough.
I recognized the address.
I recognized the timing.
The pattern.

"One more thing," Prescott went on, "She's related to Richard Knight."

Richard Knight?

"Related?"

"Could be a distant relative or a sibling. The news was that while he was in prison, she visited often."

Or a child seeking revenge for her father, I deduced.
And suddenly—I knew.
I didn't have the name.
But I had the identity.
And it chilled me to my bones.
Prescott took a step forward.

"Sir? Do you think you recognize her?"

My voice came out low and sharp.

"Yes."

I stared down at the last page where a blacked-out line hid the most vital information.

"She's not just connected to Case X," I said slowly, "She is Case X."