The streets of Liverpool were eerily quiet as the night stretched on. A faint mist curled along the cobblestone roads, the city lights flickering like distant stars. The others had long gone home, leaving only Alexander Bluestone and Roselia Dukeforth standing outside his office.
She hadn't moved.
Perhaps she was too scared.
Alexander tilted his head slightly, observing her. Her dark red hair cascaded down her back, her brownish-golden eyes fixed on the ground, her fingers subtly trembling.
"You're still here," he murmured. His voice, calm as ever, carried an undeniable weight.
Rose didn't reply.
In a single swift motion, he stepped forward—pinning her against the wall.
Her breath hitched.
His hand gripped her wrist, ensuring she couldn't escape, while the other rested firmly on her waist. His fingers curled slightly, pressing against the fabric of her coat.
Their bodies were close.
Too close.
"Are you scared?" he asked, his voice a low whisper, teasing yet unreadable.
She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Her golden eyes flickered with something raw—fear.
For the first time, Alexander saw genuine vulnerability in her.
His sapphire-blue eyes darkened.
"Strange…" he murmured, leaning slightly closer, his breath ghosting against her ear. "You weren't afraid when you took down twenty men in that alley. But now…" his grip on her wrist loosened, trailing down to her fingers, "…you look like you're about to cry."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He studied her silently, his intense gaze never wavering.
"What's wrong?" he asked, quieter this time.
A long silence.
Then, barely above a whisper, she spoke.
"You… remind me of someone."
Alexander's brow twitched.
Her voice was small, fragile, nothing like the sharp, fearless assassin he had met before.
"Someone I feared."
The weight of those words settled between them.
Alexander didn't move, nor did he let go. His sharp gaze softened just a fraction.
Then, without warning—he pulled her into his arms.
She stiffened.
For a brief second, she didn't react, her body frozen against his.
His grip was firm but not forceful. Warm, yet distant.
Slowly… she exhaled.
Her fingers curled against his coat as she melted into the embrace, the tension in her body easing slightly.
A long pause.
Then, in a soft, almost disbelieving voice, she murmured:
"You're not as cold as you pretend to be."
At that, Alexander… laughed.
Not mockingly. Not cruelly.
Just a quiet, amused chuckle, as if he found the statement utterly ridiculous.
"Don't mistake understanding for warmth, Rose." He finally pulled away, his sapphire eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I am still exactly as I seem."
She didn't believe that.
But she didn't argue either.
Instead, she just stood there, staring at him—her fear replaced by something far more dangerous.
Curiosity.