The Contract Bride

Sixteen – Her POV: Walls & Secrets

The city lights outside the penthouse glittered like broken glass, scattered and cold. I stood at the window, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the horizon as if it could swallow the heat still pulsing through me.

Alexander’s touch still lingered on my skin. His words echoed in my chest: You’re mine.

I shouldn’t have let it affect me. I shouldn’t have felt the shiver that ran down my spine when his voice dropped, when his fingers brushed my jaw like I was something fragile instead of a woman standing toe-to-toe with him.

But I had. And it terrified me.

Behind me, I heard his footsteps retreat, slow and heavy, as though he was wrestling with something he couldn’t control. A door closed somewhere deeper in the penthouse, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I pressed my palm against the glass, the cool surface a contrast to the fire inside me.

Why did it matter so much that Damien had touched me? Why did Alexander’s fury feel less like control and more like protection?

Because it wasn’t just rage. It was personal.

He cared.

The thought unsettled me more than Damien’s taunts ever could.

I exhaled shakily and turned from the window, wandering through the vast space Alexander called home. The penthouse was immaculate, sleek, every detail screaming of wealth and precision. Yet, beneath the perfection, there was an emptiness, a sterility that felt… lonely.

Like the man himself.

I paused in front of a table stacked neatly with documents. Contracts. Agreements. Deeds. His world, written in ink and sealed with signatures. No photos. No personal trinkets. No warmth.

My gaze drifted upward to a single painting hanging above the fireplace. Unlike the gallery’s chaotic abstracts, this one was stark—a black-and-white portrait of a faceless woman. Shadows swallowed her features, only the faint curve of her lips visible.

A chill slid down my spine.

Who was she?

Before I could think too hard, my ears caught the faint murmur of a voice. Low. Rough. Alexander’s.

I followed the sound down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the polished floor. The closer I came, the sharper his tone became—angry, clipped, nothing like the cool, controlled man he showed the world.

“I told you, if he comes near her again, I’ll destroy him. Don’t test me.”

I froze outside the study, my heart pounding. His voice was darker than I’d ever heard, threaded with a promise that chilled me to the bone.

He was talking about Damien. About me.

“Find out who gave him access tonight,” he continued, his voice a low growl. “Someone let that bastard near her. I want names. I want loyalty. Or I want blood.”

A pause. Silence except for my heartbeat slamming in my ears.

Then his voice dropped even lower, almost broken. “I won’t lose her. Not like before.”

My breath caught.

Before?

I pressed my back against the wall, suddenly terrified that if he caught me listening, I’d see a side of him I wasn’t ready for.

Not lose me? Like before?

What did that mean? Who had he lost?

I hurried back down the hall, my pulse racing, and slipped onto the couch before he emerged minutes later. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a storm in his eyes.

He stopped when he saw me, his gaze flicking over my body as if reassuring himself I was still there. Still safe.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice calmer now, smooth again, like he’d pulled the mask back over his face.

I forced a small smile. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

Because I wasn’t fine.

I was unraveling.

Between Damien’s taunts, Alexander’s fury, and the secrets slipping through his cracks, I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t name.

And the most terrifying part was…I wasn’t sure if I wanted to step back.

Or fall.