Chapter 11
902 Words
Alexander POV
I find her at dawn.
Not because Max wants me to.
Because I’ve already burned everything else to the ground.
The location comes from a man who swore loyalty to Max until I reminded him what loyalty actually costs. An abandoned estate outside the city, hidden under layers of arrogance and overconfidence. Max thought time was on his side.
He underestimated how fast obsession moves.
By the time I breach the building, there’s no negotiation left in me. My men clear rooms behind me, but I don’t wait. I don’t slow down. Every second she’s not in my arms is a second too long.
Gunfire. Shouting. Blood.
None of it registers.
I hear her before I see her.
Not screaming.
Breathing.
That’s enough to keep me upright.
She’s in a small room at the end of the corridor. Sitting. Wrists red, posture straight. Her chin lifts when the door explodes inward.
Her eyes find mine instantly.
Alive.
The world slams back into place so violently I almost drop to my knees.
“Angel,” I say.
I cross the room in three steps and pull her to me hard—too hard—but I don’t care. I press her face into my chest, one hand cradling the back of her head like I can fuse her into my body if I hold on tight enough.
She doesn’t cry.
She doesn’t cling.
She just stands there.
Still.
That’s when I know.
Max didn’t touch her body.
He touched something worse.
I pull back, scanning her face for injuries. There are none. Just pale skin. Hollow eyes. A quiet I’ve never seen on her before.
“It’s over,” I tell her. “You’re safe.”
She nods.
That’s all.
No relief. No anger. No collapse.
Just distance.
I take her out myself, wrapped in my jacket, shielded from the mess I left behind. Max doesn’t get the satisfaction of watching. He’s already gone—one way or another.
On the drive home, she sits beside me, hands folded in her lap. She doesn’t lean into me like she always does. When I reach for her fingers, she lets me—but she doesn’t squeeze back.
It feels like holding something fragile that’s already cracked.
At the mansion, my mother waits, frantic. Elena rushes forward, tears in her eyes.
Angelica accepts the hug.
From everyone but me.
I notice.
Of course I do.
That night, I don’t touch her unless she asks.
I stay close—but not too close. Watch her eat a little. Watch her shower alone. Watch her curl on her side of the bed like she’s creating space on purpose.
I’ve faced wars with less fear than I feel now.
Later, when the lights are low and the house finally sleeps, I sit on the edge of the bed.
“He talked to you,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away.
“Yes,” she says finally.
I clench my jaw. “What did he say?”
She turns to look at me then. Really look at me.
“He said I’m a replacement.”
The words hit harder than any bullet.
“He said you’ll always love her,” she continues calmly. “That you married me because I was safe. Available. Easy to control.”
I reach for her instinctively. She doesn’t pull away—but she doesn’t move closer either.
“That’s not true,” I say immediately.
“Isn’t it?” she asks softly.
I freeze.
Because I don’t know how to explain obsession without sounding like the monster he painted me to be.
“I married you to protect you,” I say. “I stayed because—”
“Because you needed me,” she finishes. “Not because you chose me.”
I swallow.
“I chose you,” I say. “Every day.”
She looks unconvinced.
“You watched me,” she says. “Tested me. Tracked me. And when Max said those things… part of me believed him.”
That admission hurts more than losing her would.
“I broke you,” I say hoarsely.
She shakes her head. “You saved me.”
Then, after a pause—
“But I don’t know if I feel safe in your love right now.”
That’s the line.
The one I crossed without realizing it.
I nod slowly, forcing myself to accept it. “Then I’ll earn it back.”
She studies me. “How?”
I don’t hesitate.
“No more tests,” I say. “No secrets. No watching without consent. You will have space. Choice. Even if it terrifies me.”
She searches my face, looking for a lie.
“You don’t have to forgive me yet,” I add. “You don’t even have to trust me.”
I stand, creating distance on purpose—even though it feels like tearing my own skin.
“But I will not lose you because of my fear.”
She lies back down without answering.
I turn off the light and lie on my side of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time since I met her, I’m afraid of myself.
Because I won the war.
But I might still lose her.
And if Angelica walks away from me…
I don’t know who I am without the woman who became my home.
- Writer
