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The rain had stopped, but the air still carried the heavy scent of wet earth. Jane's shoes squelched against the damp gravel as Alexander's guards half-led, half-herded her toward the waiting black SUV. Its tinted windows reflected her pale, unsettled face back at her.
"Get in," Alexander's deep voice commanded, low but sharp enough to cut through the night.
Jane hesitated, clutching her damp cardigan tighter around herself. "Wait—"
"Now," he snapped, his eyes narrowing just enough to make her chest tighten. Two guards shifted closer, their hands firm but not rough, urging her toward the open door.
Inside, the car's leather interior smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper—Alexander's cologne. She sat stiffly, pressed into the far corner as he slid in beside her. The door shut with a solid thunk, sealing her in.
The ride was silent except for the rhythmic swish of tires against wet roads. Alexander's gaze was fixed straight ahead, his posture rigid. He didn't fidget. He didn't glance her way. But the air around him felt heavy, like he was still deciding whether she deserved to breathe in it.
Jane swallowed hard. Every second in that car stretched out, each one an opportunity she wanted to take—to speak, to beg him for more time, to explain. But his presence loomed, making the words lodge like stones in her throat.
After what felt like an eternity, the SUV slowed and turned into a wide, gated driveway. The iron gates swung open smoothly, and Jane's breath caught. Beyond them stood a house—or rather, a mansion—that looked carved from old money and discipline. Wide marble steps rose to tall doors, and warm golden light spilled out from the entryway.
When the vehicle stopped, Alexander was the first out. One of the guards opened Jane's door, gesturing for her to step down.
Alexander's voice cut through the moment. "Inside."
She obeyed, trailing a step behind him as they climbed the steps. The doors swung open before they reached them, and two maids bowed slightly.
"Prepare a room," Alexander ordered without slowing. His voice was calm now, but it had the weight of stone behind it. "Second floor. East wing. Make it neat, and have it ready in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir," one maid replied instantly, hurrying away.
The other stepped forward. "Should we arrange food—"
"No questions," he interrupted, glancing at Jane briefly. "Just do as I said."
They entered a high-ceilinged hall, the kind that made footsteps echo. Jane's eyes darted over the polished floors, the ornate staircase, the massive chandelier that dripped crystals like frozen raindrops. She'd never seen such a place, and yet, instead of awe, all she felt was the weight of being out of place.
Alexander stopped at the base of the staircase and turned to her. His tone softened just a fraction, but it was still far from warm. "You'll stay here tonight. No wandering. No calls. My guards will be outside your door."
Jane wet her lips. This was it—the moment she could try. "Alexander, please, if you just give me a little more time—"
He raised a hand slightly, not in anger but finality. "Not here. Not now."
Her heart sank.
A maid returned. "Sir, the room is ready."
Alexander gave a curt nod and gestured to the guard nearest Jane. "Escort her." Then, to the maid: "Ensure she has everything she needs. Clothes, towels, hot water."
Jane followed the maid up the staircase, glancing back only once. Alexander was still at the bottom, watching her go—not with softness, not with cruelty, but with the unyielding gaze of someone who had already made his decision.
The room they led her to was spacious but unfamiliar, with pale walls, crisp sheets, and the faint scent of lavender. The door shut behind her, and she stood alone in the stillness. Somewhere in this house was the man who held her future in his hands, and she had no idea how to reach him.
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