Boundaries Blurred
843 Words
It had been two months since I married Alexander.
Two months of glamour, luxury, and attention.
But something was off.
I had expected boundaries. I had expected him to be the kind of man who paraded around with different women, because—let’s be honest—this was just a contract marriage.
I didn’t love him.
I couldn’t love him.
I loved the money, the lifestyle, the power.
But still…
Alexander had been loyal.
No other women. No scandals. No late-night outings.
It was weird.
And for some reason, that made me uneasy.
When we traveled to Paris, I was on top of the world.
We attended a high-profile event—one of the biggest interviews in the world, where only dignitaries and global elites were invited.
And I?
I was the star.
The spotlight was on me. Everywhere.
People were calling my name, photographers flashing their cameras, and for a moment, I felt like a mega-superstar, almost outshining Alexander himself.
I was flawless.
My skin glowed, my beauty was unmatched, and even amongst the richest and most powerful people on the planet, I was the one who stood out.
I was damn f**** gorgeous**.
And I knew it.
Then, in the middle of the grand moment, my boyfriend called.
To me, it was nothing personal.
I mean, Alexander and I weren’t really married.
Not in the way that mattered.
But the moment I answered, I noticed something.
Alexander’s expression darkened.
His jaw clenched. His eyes turned cold.
When the call ended, I turned to him, confused.
"Would you like some tea?" I asked casually.
He didn’t respond.
The rest of the night, he was distant. Cold.
We had always been good talkmates, but now?
He was giving me nothing.
I didn’t understand it.
So, the next day, I confronted him.
"Why are you behaving like this?" I demanded.
We had just arrived at a party, and he was acting off.
"If this arrangement is too much for you," I continued, "I can book another hotel. I don’t mind giving you space."
I expected him to shrug it off.
But instead, he raised an eyebrow.
Then he asked, in a dangerously low voice, "Who were you talking to the other day?"
I blinked. "My boyfriend."
The Shift
His expression hardened.
"You have the audacity to talk to another man in front of me?" His voice was cold, controlled—but I could hear the danger beneath it.
I frowned. "It’s just a contract marriage, Alexander. I didn’t think it was—"
His hand shot up, silencing me.
"You think this is just a contract to me?" He stepped closer, his presence overpowering. "I made you my wife. My woman. I have been patient, kind, and generous. And you still don’t see it?"
He exhaled sharply, his jaw tight.
"I want you to be mine. Only mine. You belong to me. I can’t afford to share you."
I felt my heart skip.
"I don’t share, and I won’t share," he said, his voice rough. "I am a man of integrity, and I own what is mine."
Before I could react, his lips crashed onto mine.
Hard. Demanding. Claiming.
His hands gripped my waist, pulling me close.
I gasped, realizing I was only in my robe.
He loosened the knot, his eyes blazing as he took in my bare skin.
I should have stopped him.
I should have pushed him away.
But I didn’t.
Because at that moment, I realized something:
Alexander wasn’t just rich, powerful, and dominant.
He was also a demon in bed.
And I was completely, hopelessly addicted.
The air was warm, the Parisian night alive with the distant hum of music and laughter. But none of that mattered.
Not when Alexander’s hands were on me.
Not when his lips traced every inch of my skin, setting fire to my senses.
We were on the private balcony of our suite, overlooking the Eiffel Tower, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. The stars above witnessed everything.
He kissed me like he was starving for me, like he had been holding back for too long—and now, he couldn’t any longer.
"You’re mine," he whispered against my lips, his voice hoarse with need. "Only mine."
I shivered.
I had always thought love was a game, something to be played and won. But as Alexander adorned my body with his touch, I realized—this wasn’t a game to him.
It was real.
He worshipped me.
His hands moved with a reverence I had never felt before, tracing my curves like I was something precious.
"I love you," he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck.
My breath caught.
Love?
I wasn’t supposed to love him.
I wasn’t supposed to fall.
But how could I not?
When he held me like this. When he touched me like I was his entire world.
Under the silver glow of the moon, we became one.
There was no contract.
No pretense.
Just us.
And in that moment, I knew—
I was his.
Completely.
- Writer
