Alexander’s POV
Two o’clock.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour, the deep, mournful toll vibrating through the floorboards of the library. It was a sound that usually signaled the end of my workday, the time when I would finally cap the inkwell, roll up the maps, and allow myself four hours of dreamless, chemically-induced sleep before the sun rose.
But tonight, the sound felt like a countdown.
I stared at the dossier on my desk, a background check on a new supplier for the west wing renovations, but the words were meaningless shapes. My eyes kept drifting to the ceiling, as if I could look through the plaster and beams to the room directly above me.
The Master Suite.
She’s sleeping, I told myself for the hundredth time. She’s safe.
She is alone, Titus countered, h
