Chapter Three
1682 Words
Chapter Three – Cracks in His Armor
The rain started sometime after midnight.
I only knew because I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, the evening replayed in my mind—me, standing beside Alexander in that glittering ballroom, smiling like I belonged there while inside I felt like an imposter.
Now, lying in the massive bed that still smelled faintly of him, I stared at the ceiling while the sound of raindrops tapped against the glass walls.
The penthouse was dark, but I could sense the city outside, alive and restless. I wondered if Alexander was asleep in his own room—or if he even slept at all. Men like him seemed carved from stone, too focused, too controlled to need something as human as rest.
Finally, the heaviness of the silence became unbearable. I slid out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cool marble floor, and padded toward the kitchen. Maybe tea would help.
The kitchen was dimly lit, the city’s glow spilling through the glass. I was halfway to the cupboard when I froze.
He was there.
Alexander stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, pouring himself a drink. The sight of him like that—less polished, less guarded—caught me off guard.
“You’re awake,” he said without turning around.
“So are you.”
He glanced at me then, his eyes sweeping over my loose pajama pants and oversized sweater. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not really.” I hesitated, then added, “Too quiet here.”
That made him smirk faintly. “Most people would kill for quiet.”
“Maybe. But I’m not most people.”
For a moment, there was just the sound of rain. Then he poured a second glass and slid it across the counter toward me. “Try this. Might help.”
I eyed it warily. “What is it?”
“Whiskey.”
I laughed softly. “At two in the morning?”
“It’s five somewhere,” he replied dryly.
Against my better judgment, I took the glass. The burn hit my throat instantly, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
We stood there, leaning against opposite counters, and for once, he wasn’t lecturing me or giving orders. His gaze softened—just a fraction—as he studied me.
“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.
“That’s twice you’ve said that,” I pointed out. “Is this you trying to be nice?”
“Maybe.” His tone was unreadable. “Don’t get used to it.”
I tilted my head. “You really don’t let people in, do you?”
His jaw tightened slightly, and for a second I thought he’d shut down the conversation completely. But then he surprised me.
“Letting people in,” he said slowly, “is the fastest way to let them hurt you.”
There it was—just the faintest crack in his armor.
“Someone hurt you,” I said before I could stop myself.
His gaze met mine, sharp and intense. “Everyone has a past, Liana. Yours just happens to be… entangled with mine now.”
Something in the way he said my name made my pulse trip.
I wanted to ask more, but he finished his drink and set the glass down. “Get some sleep. We have another event tomorrow.”
And just like that, the walls were back up.
---
The next day, Clara informed me that Alexander would be out for most of the afternoon.
I should’ve felt relieved—time without him meant time to breathe—but instead, a restless curiosity gnawed at me. There was so much about him I didn’t know, and the little I’d seen only raised more questions.
By mid-afternoon, I found myself wandering into his office.
It was exactly what I expected—sleek, minimal, precise. A massive black desk, a wall of books, a few abstract paintings. Everything was in perfect order… except for one photo frame.
It wasn’t of him.
It was a faded picture of a woman with warm brown eyes and a smile that could light up a room. Something about her felt familiar, though I couldn’t place it.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I jumped, spinning around to find Alexander in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing a suit this time—just dark jeans and a fitted shirt—but his presence was just as commanding.
“I was just… looking,” I stammered.
His gaze flicked to the photo before returning to me. “That’s my mother.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said quietly.
“She was.” His voice had an edge I hadn’t heard before—something sharp and final.
I waited, hoping he’d say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped past me and set the frame face-down on the desk.
“Don’t go through my things, Liana.”
It wasn’t shouted, but the weight behind the words made my skin prickle.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he cut in smoothly. “And you’ll learn quickly that curiosity can be dangerous.”
The way he said it sent a chill through me, but it wasn’t fear I felt—it was intrigue.
---
That night, we attended another dinner, this one smaller and more intimate—just a handful of his business associates at a high-end restaurant.
I played my part again, smiling when necessary, laughing at jokes I didn’t understand. But this time, I caught something in his expression when he looked at me—approval, yes, but something else too.
When one of the men made a comment about my looks—half compliment, half innuendo—Alexander’s jaw tightened.
“She’s not here for your amusement,” he said, his voice low but lethal.
The air at the table shifted instantly. The man laughed it off, but I saw the warning in Alexander’s eyes.
On the way home, I couldn’t help but tease. “Protective, are we?”
His gaze stayed on the road. “Possessive.”
The single word made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to think about.
---
That night, lying in bed, I realized something unsettling.
For all my resentment toward him, I was beginning to see the man behind the control—the man who drank whiskey in the middle of the night, who kept his mother’s photo hidden, who bristled when someone else looked at me.
And I wasn’t sure if that made him more dangerous… or me more vulnerable.
---
The rain was still falling when I woke the next morning, faint light seeping through the curtains. My head was heavy, not from the whiskey but from the thoughts that refused to leave me alone.
Alexander wasn’t in sight, but his presence still lingered—like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
I took my time getting ready, telling myself I didn’t care where he was, what he was doing. But my eyes kept flicking toward the clock, wondering when I’d hear that deep voice calling me downstairs.
By noon, Clara appeared at my door. “Mr. Cross asked me to let you know he’ll be back late tonight. There’s a charity meeting, then another dinner.”
I nodded, hiding my disappointment with a tight smile.
After she left, I wandered aimlessly around the penthouse. I wasn’t used to this kind of silence. Back in my tiny apartment, there was always noise—the hum of the fridge, the neighbor’s TV, the sound of life happening just beyond the thin walls.
Here, the quiet felt… isolating.
I found myself standing in front of the closed door to his private study again. I shouldn’t go in. He’d already warned me once.
But my fingers were already on the handle.
Inside, the scent of leather and faint cologne wrapped around me. I stepped toward the desk, my eyes drawn to the single locked drawer. My curiosity clawed at me.
Before I could decide what to do, a faint vibration came from the desk. A phone—sleek, black, definitely not the one he used in public.
I stared at it, torn between leaving and answering. In the end, I picked it up.
One new message.
> Unknown Number: The next step is ready. Waiting for your signal.
My stomach dropped. The words were short, clinical… and ominous.
I placed the phone back exactly where I found it and backed away, my heart racing.
What “next step”? What signal?
When Alexander returned that evening, he didn’t mention anything unusual. But I caught him watching me longer than usual at dinner, as if he knew something had shifted.
---
Later that night, I was curled up on the couch with a book when he entered the living room. He didn’t sit—just stood there, his gaze locked on me.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.
I forced a casual smile. “I thought you liked quiet.”
“Not when it feels like you’re hiding something.”
My pulse quickened. “Why would I be hiding anything?”
He tilted his head, studying me like he could read every thought. “Because you’re curious. And curious people rarely stop at the surface.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the text on his hidden phone. “Maybe I’ve learned that some things are better left alone.”
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Respect? I couldn’t tell.
Then he stepped closer, and the air between us tightened. “Maybe,” he murmured, “but you’re not the type to walk away from a locked door.”
My breath caught, but before I could respond, he turned and left the room, leaving me tangled in questions I couldn’t untangle.
---
The rain finally stopped around midnight, but the storm inside me didn’t.
Because now I knew for certain—Alexander Cross was hiding something big. And I wasn’t sure if I was safer staying out of it… or digging deeper.
- Writer
