Emma woke up still wrapped in the soft throw blanket Alexander had draped over her the night before. The couch was empty now, still warm, like he hadn't been gone long.
She sat up slowly. Her body ached, but her mind ached more. He had opened up to her last night in a way he hadn't before quietly, carefully. And for the first time, she saw the man behind the mystery.
She followed the sound of clinking glass to the study.
Alexander stood near the window, sipping something dark. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched. He didn't turn as she stepped in.
"You didn't have to stay out here all night," she said gently.
"I've had worse nights."
She came closer, reaching for the blanket she had brought with her. "Still. You should rest."
I don't need you to take care of me, he said flatly.
Emma flinched. I wasn't
"Yes, you were. You're kind, Emma. That's dangerous."
"Why? Because I see the part of you that still feels?"
He finally turned to her, eyes tired but guarded. Don't get close. It's easier that way.
Her throat tightened. For who? You or me?
"For both of us."
She took a shaky breath. "But I already am close, Alex. Whether you like it or not."
He stared at her for a moment then stepped back.
"That's exactly why you need to leave before you get burned."
Emma nodded slowly, then whispered, Too late.
Emma stood frozen in the hallway, her fingers still tingling from where they had brushed against Alexander's hand moments ago. He had looked at her differently not with the usual cold calculation, but with something almost human. Vulnerable.
But then, just as quickly, he'd dropped her hand and turned away, his expression unreadable again.
She followed him in silence down the grand corridor, neither of them speaking, the tension between them stretched tight like a wire. Her heart thudded with unspoken questions. Why did he pull away? What was he afraid of?
They reached the bottom of the staircase when he finally spoke. "There's a meeting I need to attend. You'll stay here until I return."
Emma stopped walking. "You're leaving? After everything we talked about?"
Alexander turned to face her, his tone curt. "It's not up for debate."
"Of course it's not," she muttered. Because heaven forbid you let someone care about you for more than five minutes.
His jaw tightened. This isn't about caring, Emma.
Isn't it? she shot back. "Because every time you open up, even just a little, you slam the door shut. You let me in for half a second, and then pretend it never happened.
He stepped closer, his voice low but sharp. "This world my world, is not safe. You think you want the truth, but you don't. You want to romanticize a man you barely know."
I'm not trying to romanticize you, she whispered. I'm trying to understand you.
A flicker of something passed through his eyes regret? Pain? but he masked it quickly.
You married me out of desperation, he said. Don't confuse gratitude with affection.
That hurt more than she expected it to.
Emma blinked, stepping back. "Right. You don't have to worry about that happening."
Without another word, she turned and walked back toward her room. She didn't slam the door behind her, but she wanted to. She wanted to scream into the silence, tear down the walls that made him so unreachable. But instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to cry.
A few hours later, the rain started.
Soft at first, then harder tapping against the windows like impatient fingers. Emma sat curled in the corner of the window seat in her room, hugging her knees, watching the drops chase each other down the glass.
She had no idea how long Alexander had been gone.
Marissa came in quietly and left a tray of food by the door without speaking. Emma didn't touch it.
Her phone buzzed beside her. Unknown number.
"You're not safe there."
No signature. No follow up.
Her fingers trembled as she held the phone. She stared at the message, wondering what it meant, and more importantly why it felt so personal.
By the time Alexander returned, it was close to midnight.
Emma heard the distant click of the front door opening, the murmured voices of staff, the sound of his shoes against marble. She stayed in her room, pretending to sleep, but part of her waited for a knock, a conversation, a sign that maybe he regretted what he'd said earlier.
But it never came.
The next morning, she found him in the kitchen.
The polished, expensive kind of kitchen that no one ever seemed to use all chrome and marble and coldness. Except now, there was warmth. The smell of fresh tomatoes and garlic. A sizzling sound from a pan.
Alexander stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, barefoot. It startled her not the fact that he was cooking, but how normal he looked.
Morning, she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.
He didn't look at her. "You didn't eat last night."
You noticed?
He tossed chopped onions into the pan. "I notice more than you think."
He turned off the stove but didn't move. "I said something yesterday I shouldn't have.
She blinked, surprised. "Which part?"
"The part about gratitude. It was cruel."
Emma leaned against the counter. Yeah. It was.
Finally, he turned to face her. His eyes looked tired. "I don't know how to do this, Emma. Any of it. This us."
I'm not asking for fireworks, she said. Just honesty.
"I've only ever been honest with you."
No, she replied gently. You've only ever told me half truths. You let me see pieces, but never the whole picture. And when I try to get closer, you shut me out."
His hands clenched at his sides. "Because the closer you get, the more danger you're in. And I can't, won't risk that."
She stepped forward, standing just a foot away now. But what if I'm already in it? What if we both are?
Silence.
The only sound was the soft simmering of the forgotten sauce.
Then she reached up, slowly, and touched his arm. Let me help. Let me be someone you trust.
He flinched.
Not visibly but she felt it.
Then, just as she thought he might let her in again, he pulled back.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Don't get close."
The words stung more than she thought they would.
"Why not?"
"Because everyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. Or worse."
Emma stared at him. "You really believe that?"
I know it.
He turned away, gripping the counter like it was the only thing grounding him.
She watched him for a moment longer, heart heavy.
Then quietly, "I'm not afraid of you, Alexander."
He closed his eyes. "You should be."
She didn't wait for breakfast. She left the kitchen, walking out into the garden even though the grass was still wet from the rain. She needed air. She needed space.
But what she needed most… was him to stop shutting her out.
She sat on the old bench beneath the tree and looked up at the gray sky. What had she gotten herself into? This wasn't a simple marriage of convenience. This wasn't just hiding from creditors and scandals.
This was something deeper. Darker.
And she was already too far in to walk away.
Back inside, Alexander stood alone in the kitchen, the food burning in the pan, untouched.
He stared at the door Emma had just walked out of, fists clenched at his sides.
He wanted to follow her.
He wanted to say the words that burned his throat.
But he didn't.
Because caring was dangerous.
And love?
Love was lethal.