Chapter Four: What the Heart Forgets
429 Words
The door of the carriage closed with a heavy thud behind him. Chase exhaled sharply, tugging his gloves loose as the vehicle began to move.
The curtains were drawn. The scent of roses lingered faintly in the cabin—not from the Logan garden, but from the woman sitting in the shadows.
“You’re late,” Alexia said.
Her voice was smooth silk wrapped around a blade.
“I came as soon as I could.”
Alexia leaned forward into the flickering lantern light. Her red lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And how was your future wife?”
Chase didn’t answer immediately. He stared at his hands, fingers still clenched around the leather gloves.
“Tasia is...decent. Honest.”
“So you like her?”
He looked up. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t deny it.”
Alexia’s smile slipped. She reached out and took one of his hands, her touch soft but commanding.
“I don’t like sharing, Chase,” she whispered. “You know that.”
“You won’t have to,” he said automatically. “This marriage is political. Nothing more.”
“And yet you admire her.”
“I pity her.”
“That’s worse,” Alexia said, pulling her hand away. “You’ll try to protect her. You’ll care. That’s how it starts.”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted. “You think I asked for this?”
“No,” she said. “But I also think you’re too weak to stop it.”
He flinched.
Alexia tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Of course I do.”
“Then prove it.”
She leaned in, lips grazing his. Her perfume was heavy, intoxicating.
The kiss was deep, familiar, and cold.
When they parted, she whispered, “Don’t let her get in the way.”
“I won’t.”
“She’s soft,” Alexia said, drawing back into the shadows. “She doesn’t belong in our world. And if she tries to stay...”
Chase stared at her. “You wouldn’t.”
She smiled again. “Wouldn’t I?”
The carriage rolled on in silence, wheels grinding against cobblestones.
Chase closed his eyes. All he saw was Tasia’s face. The way she had looked at him in the garden.
Not with lust. Not with strategy. Just with quiet, fragile hope.
He cursed under his breath.
Because somewhere, deep down, a small traitorous part of him had hoped too.
- Writer
