Beneath His Heart

Chapter 3

April's ( pretending as Gwen) pov

I woke to a whisper — soft, sharp, poisonous.

The voices were close, too close. I blinked into the gray morning light, my body strangely heavy, my skin exposed to the cool air. The world around me was still, but my heartbeat thundered like a warning.

Then I saw them.

Dorothy stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes burning with disgust. Beside her, Gwen — polished, poisonous Gwen — wore the same expression carved from ice and contempt. Their presence choked the room like smoke.

A cold shiver crept over my spine.

Then I felt it.

An arm — his arm — lying across my waist.

Bare skin.

My bare skin.

My breath hitched. An invisible knife slid down my throat, cold and merciless.

I turned, unwilling, terrified.

And there he was.

Alexander Black.

Asleep. Naked. In my bed.

This wasn’t a nightmare. It was something worse. This was reality wrapped in horror.

His eyes fluttered open, disoriented. At first, they squinted at the sunlight streaming in. But then he saw me. And in that moment, clarity — dark, violent clarity — filled the space between us.

His warm brown eyes turned to stone.

"What the hell are you staring at?" Gwen's voice tore through me. "The show’s over."

People began to leave, like vultures finished with a carcass. Only four remained: Dorothy, Gwen, Mr. and Mrs. Black.

Gwen stepped forward. The air in the room curdled.

Without hesitation, she struck me. A slap across my cheek that snapped my head sideways.

"You disgusting b***h," she hissed. "How dare you touch what’s mine?"

She raised her hand again — but Alexander grabbed her wrist.

Her rage didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. "You’re defending her?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me.

Instead, he said quietly, "Don’t waste your time. She’s not worth it."

His words. His voice. They hit harder than Gwen’s hand.

That wasn’t the Alexander I remembered. Not the boy who once knelt beside me when I cried, who whispered that I mattered, who fought the world on my behalf. That boy was gone — buried beneath whatever mask this man now wore.

Dorothy stepped forward, her voice sharp with rehearsed cruelty. She spoke of shame, of ruined reputations, of weddings lost and pride shattered. I didn’t hear the details — my eyes were locked on Alexander’s hands, wrapped around Gwen’s shoulders, comforting her.

He hadn’t looked at me once.

Then Samuel Black, the man who controlled fortunes and futures with the flick of his hand, stepped forward. Calm. Cold. Final.

“The wedding will happen.”

Relief flickered in Dorothy’s and Gwen’s faces — for a breath.

“But the bride… will be her,” he said, nodding toward me.

Silence, violent and absolute.

"No," Alexander said, his voice a dark rumble. "No, Father. I won’t marry her."

"Then you leave this house with nothing," Mr. Black said without pause. "No name. No money. No empire."

A gasp. A crack in the room’s foundation.

“I’ll leave,” Alexander said, jaw clenched. “Anything’s better than marrying her.”

The final thread inside me snapped.

I wanted to be numb. I begged for numbness. But the pain found its way in — as it always did with him.

Gwen grabbed Alexander’s hand and dragged him from the room.

Everyone left. One by one. Dorothy gave me a look that promised pain, then disappeared into the hallway.

And I was alone.

The silence was deafening. The weight of shame, betrayal, confusion — it pressed against my chest like stone.

I had once dreamed of this man. I’d imagined that if I ever saw him again, I would tell him everything — how I’d carried the memory of his kindness like a talisman. But life had no interest in dreams.

I broke.

Tears spilled soundlessly, not from weakness, but from despair that had nowhere else to go.

Then the door exploded open.

He stood there — Alexander — no longer confused, no longer distant. Furious. His rage swallowed the air like fire devouring oxygen.

He marched toward me, his eyes wild, predatory.

Before I could breathe, he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. The impact stole the air from my lungs.

“What did you put in my drink?” he growled, his voice low and deadly.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

His hand closed around my throat.

Tight. Unforgiving.

I struggled.

The edges of the room began to blur. My hands clawed at his, but he only tightened his grip. Blackness crept in. My body trembled. I waited for death.

Then he let go.

I fell to the floor, coughing, gasping, a burning pain in my throat. He stood over me like a god of wrath.

“I’ll kill you,” he said softly, cruelly.

“I know you’re a good liar. But if you play games with me again, I’ll burn your whole damn world down,”

My eyes watered as I looked up at him, broken.

“I didn’t do anything…” I whispered, voice shaking, throat raw.

“I’m marrying you,” he said with a twisted smirk. “Not because you won, but because I want you to suffer. I want you to understand who you messed with.”

“You want to be Mrs. Black so badly?” he said. “Fine. I’ll give it to you. But I’ll make sure every second of it feels like walking on broken glass."

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

The shadows wrapped around him like they belonged to him.

"Welcome to hell, wifey,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I sank to the floor, trembling. The walls felt colder now. The light crueler. I didn’t know what world I'm stepped into.

But it wasn’t a marriage.

It was a sentence.

Alexander pov

She is a damn liar.

She stood there with those damned tearful eyes, swearing she didn’t do it.

But I know what I drank.

And I know how I felt.

I’m not a fool.

Someone wanted to see me fall.

Someone wanted me in that bed.

And who else had anything to gain from such a scandal?.

I had woken up disoriented, half-naked, beside her. The air thick with perfume, guilt, and the stench of betrayal. And then — the audience. My mother. My father. April. God, even the staff.

She played her part well.

Too well.

Stunned. Confused. Like she hadn’t spent weeks weaving the perfect trap.

But shock? Shock is easy to fake.

Rage isn’t.

I don’t remember grabbing her—only the sound of her back hitting the wall. Her gasp. Her wide, terrified eyes. The way her fingers clawed at mine as I held her there, just a little too long.

A voice inside me begged to stop. But it was drowned by another—colder, crueler. The one that had been stripped bare and humiliated. The one that wanted her to feel everything I was feeling.

I let her go just before she slipped into darkness.

“You want to be Mrs. Black so badly?” I said. “Fine. I’ll give it to you. But I’ll make sure every second of it feels like walking on broken glass."

She flinched.

Good.

Let her bleed for every lie.

Let her learn who she dared to cross.

I am Alexander Black.

And I don’t forgive.

I don’t forget.

I play for blood.