Chapter 8
846 Words
Angelica POV
I don’t confront Alexander right away.
I try to be reasonable. I tell myself that his world is dangerous, that cameras and guards are normal, that protection can look like control if you’re not used to it.
But the feeling doesn’t go away.
It grows.
Every time a door opens before I reach it.
Every time a guard appears just a little too fast.
Every time Alexander finishes my sentence—or answers a question I never asked him.
The worst part?
He never hides it.
It’s as if now that I’ve noticed, he doesn’t bother pretending anymore.
The breaking point comes three days later.
I’m in the dance studio, music loud, body moving, trying to burn the tension out of my veins. When the song ends, I turn—and see the small red light in the corner.
Blinking.
Recording.
My stomach drops.
That camera wasn’t there before.
I walk out without changing, barefoot, heart pounding, and head straight for Alexander’s office. I don’t knock.
He’s on a call. He looks up the moment I enter.
“Just do it,” he says sharply into the phone. The call ends.
The room is silent.
“You’re watching me,” I say.
He leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m a problem he anticipated. “Yes.”
The calmness in his voice makes something snap inside me.
“In my dance room?” I whisper. “Alexander, that’s the only place that’s mine.”
“It’s in a common area,” he replies evenly.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s my escape. And you put eyes there without telling me.”
He stands.
“You were approached by Max,” he says. “You are a target.”
“So you test me? Watch me? Track me?” My voice rises. “I’m your wife, not your prisoner.”
He steps closer. Too close.
“You don’t understand what men like Max do to women like you.”
“And you don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” I fire back.
His jaw tightens. “I’m keeping you alive.”
“I didn’t agree to be monitored like a threat,” I say. “You don’t get to decide everything.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, I see something dark flicker across his face.
“I get to decide what keeps you safe.”
“That’s not safety,” I say quietly. “That’s control.”
The word lands between us like a blade.
For a moment, I think he might explode.
Instead, his voice drops. Dangerous. Controlled.
“I lost someone because I trusted blindly.”
“I am not her,” I say. “And if you treat me like I am, you will lose me too.”
Silence.
Heavy. Charged.
Finally, he exhales. “I will remove the camera from the studio.”
“That’s not enough,” I say. “I need honesty. Not tests. Not traps.”
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods once. “You’ll have it.”
I don’t know if I believe him.
⸻
That night, I insist on leaving the house the next day—with Elena, with guards, with normalcy.
Alexander doesn’t argue.
That should have been my warning.
We’re leaving a small café when everything goes wrong.
The street is crowded. Loud. Alive.
And then—
Chaos.
A van screeches to a halt. A door slides open. Someone grabs my arm hard enough to hurt.
I scream.
Elena reacts instantly, pulling me back, but another man appears behind me. A hand clamps over my mouth. I taste metal and panic.
“Move,” a voice hisses. “Now.”
Gunfire erupts.
People scatter.
The grip on me tightens—then suddenly releases.
I’m yanked backward, slammed against a solid chest.
Alexander.
His arm locks around me, crushing me to him, one hand covering my head as shots echo. His men swarm, ruthless, efficient.
The van peels away.
Silence follows—broken only by my shaking breath.
Alexander doesn’t let go.
Not even when it’s over.
His heart is pounding as hard as mine.
“I told you,” he says hoarsely into my hair. “I told you.”
I pull back, looking at him. His eyes are wild. Furious. Terrified.
“This is Max,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“And this—” I gesture between us, “—this is why you watch me.”
He cups my face, hands trembling just slightly. “This is why I won’t ever give him another chance.”
I realize then how close I came to disappearing.
And how close Alexander came to losing his mind.
That night, as I sit alone in our bedroom, replaying everything, one truth settles heavily in my chest:
Alexander’s control isn’t just about power.
It’s about fear.
And Max just crossed a line that will turn that fear into war.
Because now, this isn’t about watching anymore.
It’s about possession.
And survival.
- Writer
