Chapter 19: A Knock
(Alexander's POV)
The knock came again, louder, more insistent, rattling through the air like it had a message of its own.
None of us moved at first. Even Michael, who usually jumped at any excuse to fill a silence, kept still. The only sound in the room was the faint creak of the headboard as he shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, Michael spoke. "Are you expecting someone?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Maybe it's Arthur," he suggested, his tone dry.
Arthur is Eilidh's partner. A ginger haired boy who was a very close friend of ours. He and Eilidh always broke up and made up when they felt like. Okay that's a lie. They always argue then break up but even after they break up, they are still together so it's not really a breakup? I don't even know but it's something and I can't explain it. It suits them though. I've never seen a more imperfect but perfect couple.
Across from Michael, Eilidh rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out. "Please. If it were Arthur, he wouldn't knock. He hasn't got the manners for it. He'd just barge in like he owns the place."
I snorted. "True. Knocking would require a shred of respect."
"Or self-awareness," Eilidh added.
Michael smirked, but his eyes still darted toward the door. "Then who is it?"
The third knock was sharper, cutting through the room.
"Well," I muttered, pushing off from the chair, "let's find out."
The corridor outside the dorm was quiet when I opened the door, which only made the sight waiting for me more jarring.
Isabella Marquez stood there, framed in the doorway like she'd stepped out of a different world entirely. She looked like a dream. Her dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, her usually sharp composure replaced by something raw. Her eyes were red and clouded. Those emerald orbs I've obsessed about more times than I could count were filled with fear? Yes, fear clung to her features, and her hands twisted together as though she couldn't stop them.
She looked like she'd been hollowed out and left to shiver in the remains.
"Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice was steady, but the edges trembled.
For a moment, all I could do was stare. Isabella was at my room asking to come in. This was real? No, it couldn't. I pinched myself discreetly and well...it's fucking real. But I'm sure the reason she's here has nothing to do with any of the fantasies I've had before.
"Alexander?" She called out in that honey like voice that could both annoy me and send my heartbeat racing at the same time.
Then instinct kicked in. "Of course, come in." My voice came out softer than I intended. I moved aside quickly, urging her in with a tilt of my head.
The second she crossed the threshold, I shut the door firmly behind her, as though I could lock out whatever had chased her here.
"What's wrong?" I asked, quieter this time, careful.
Her gaze flicked up to mine, then away. "Help me," she whispered. "I need your help to prove I'm not the murderer."
The words hung in the room, heavy and impossible to ignore.
Behind me, Michael shifted on the bed. Eilidh sat straighter. I could feel their eyes burning into us, but I wasn't sure Isabella noticed that we weren't alone.
But, then she did.
Her eyes widened when she realized we weren't alone. She froze, the shield of pride snapping back into place. "I...never mind," she stammered, already half-turning toward the door. "I'll come back later when you are less busy."
"No." My hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could bolt. Not hard, just enough to hold her in place. "Stay."
She looked at me like I'd spoken another language when the only language I knew was English.
"Isabella." I kept my tone firm but low, the way you'd speak to a cornered animal. "Don't run away."
Her lips parted, and for a heartbeat I thought she'd argue. Instead, she asked, almost desperate, "Are you going to help me or not?"
"You don't even need to ask." The words were out before I could stop them, more honest than I usually allowed myself to be. "With that trash excuse for a detective running the case, you'd be mad to think I wouldn't."
Something in her expression flickered, but she didn't relax.
"I'll help you," I continued, "I'll do whatever you want. But first, I need to know why you came here looking like you've seen a ghost. What happened?"
She shook her head with a scoff. "Don't pretend like you care, Alexander. You don't."
My jaw clenched. "Don't do that."
Her eyes snapped to mine, startled.
"Don't decide for me," I said, voice edged but steady. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be standing here right now, stopping you from walking back out into that corridor to face all of this alone."
Her breath caught, and for a moment the mask slipped. Vulnerability cracked through her stubbornness.
Then she turned, not to me, but to Michael.
Michael blinked, caught like a deer in headlights. "What?" he asked nervously. "If this is about Yvette it's consensual." He told her.
"I know that. And I'm happy for you both but that's not it. She..."
Isabella swallowed hard. Her voice was quieter now, but we all heard it and we're shocked by her words.
"Yvette is in the hospital."
"Um..." Micheal shifted nervously but his smile had vanished and his expression was filled with both shock and concern. "What?"
"Yvette is in the hospital." Isabella repeated.
Micheal was halfway across the room already. "What happened? What's going on?" He asked worriedly.
Isabella turned to me. "This is exactly why I need your help. My friends are being attacked and targeted because of me."
I had no idea what was going on but whatever it is, it was obvious that it messed with Isabella.
"Who was it?" I growled out.
"I don't need you to go macho man for me. I need your help in proving I'm not a murderer so that no one will target me or my friends at all. I'm not going to have that name attached to me or people I care about."