The night was heavy with the kind of stillness that presses against your skin. Alexa had just tucked the blankets around Aaron, brushing his hair gently as his small breaths steadied into sleep. She lingered at his bedside a moment longer, her heart softening despite herself.
The door creaked.
Marcus stood in the frame; his presence was like a shadow against the dim candlelight. He didn't speak at first, but rather, he just watched the sight of her leaning over his son. Normally, his eyes would carry a warmth, though it was veiled. Tonight, however, there was nothing, nothing but a cold edge that cut through the air.
Alexa straightened as her hand lingered one last time on Aaron's shoulder before she turned towards him. "He's asleep," she whispered, careful not to wake the boy.
Marcus gave a short nod. "Come to my study."
She blinked at him, caught off guard. His voice was sharp, clipped—no trace of the ease he sometimes carried when speaking to her. "Now?" she asked quietly.
"Yes." He didn't elaborate, didn't explain. He just turned and walked away, leaving her in the doorway, heart beginning to drum with unease.
Alexa followed, the silence between them louder than footsteps. Every corridor seemed longer than usual, every candle flicker throwing strange shapes against the walls. Her thoughts ran wild—had she slipped somewhere? Had he discovered something? Or was this about the intruder again?
When they reached his study, Marcus didn't wait for her. He opened the door and strode inside, the flames in the fireplace painting his profile in harsh amber. Alexa closed the door behind her, suddenly feeling like prey that had willingly walked into a hunter's den.
He stood behind his desk, both hands pressed against the polished wood, head lowered as if steadying himself. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers.
There was no warmth there.
No flicker of softness.
Only steel.
"Why are you really here, Alexa?" Marcus asked, his voice low, deliberate, and cold enough to freeze the room.
Alexa's breath caught, her pulse spiking in her throat. For a heartbeat, she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Because she knew—this was not just a question.
It was an accusation.
And it cut deeper than any blade.
Scene 2: I Can't Replace Your Dead Wife, Marcus
"Why are you really here, Alexa?"
The words hung in the study like smoke as Alexa drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. "I told you before, Marcus. I was assigned here—to protect Aaron."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Assigned by who? Why you? Attacks began the moment you stepped through these doors. Doesn't that feel like more than coincidence to you?"
Her jaw tightened. "So now you think I brought the danger with me?"
"I think," Marcus said, as his voice was now like ice cracking under pressure, "that every time I turn around, there is blood in the shadows. And somehow, you are always standing in the middle of it."
His words pierced sharper than blades, but Alexa forced her tone calm. "Do you think I want this? That I enjoy watching a child being dragged into things far bigger than he is? Or being cornered in my own sleep? I didn't choose these enemies, Marcus. They chose me."
"You chose secrecy." His voice rose, as anger began to strain against the control he fought to keep. "You chose to walk into my house with your half-truths and expect me to hand you my son's life."
"I've saved him!" she shot back, finally losing her composure. "Time and again, when no one else even saw the knife coming, I've been there. If you don't trust me, then tell me—who will keep Aaron safe when your guards fail?"
Marcus slammed his hand flat on the desk, the sound ricocheting through the room. His eyes burned with an intensity that pinned her in place. "I don't need a stranger with secrets buried in her past to teach me how to protect my own blood!"
Alexa's chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands trembling though she tried to hide it. The heat of his distrust was unbearable, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out like broken glass:
"I can't replace your dead wife, Marcus."
Silence.
The sentence lingered, crueler than she'd ever intended. The flicker in his eyes was instant—pain, sharp and raw, before it hardened into fury.
Alexa's lips parted, her face paling. "I didn't mean—"
But it was too late.
Marcus straightened, his voice low and lethal, cutting through her attempt at apology. "Get out."
"Marcus—"
"Out." The word slammed down like a hammer. His chest was rising, his fists clenched, every line of his body shutting her out.
Alexa's throat tightened. She wanted to reach across the chasm, to take the words back, to explain—but his face was stone now. Whatever fragile trust she'd begun to build had shattered in that moment.
Her heart pounded as she turned, each step to the door heavier than the last. She hesitated once, hand on the knob, but he didn't move, didn't speak. He only stood there, burning in his grief and his anger, staring at her as though she had just confirmed his worst suspicions.
Alexa swallowed hard, her apology dying on her tongue.
And then, with quiet finality, she walked out.
The door closed between them with a sound that felt like the end of something neither of them had wanted to lose.
Scene 3: Nina's Delicious Revenge (Part 1)
The heavy echo of Alexa's footsteps faded slowly down the corridor, and was slowly swallowed by the silence of the mansion. The study door stayed closed, Marcus inside like a wounded lion, was pacing and burning in his storm.
From the darkened corner of the hall, where velvet curtains draped heavy against the walls, a soft rustle stirred.
Nina stepped forward, her lips already curving into a slow, poisonous smile.
"Oh, Marcus," she whispered, her voice like honey laced with venom. "How easily she revealed herself…"
Her eyes glittered with triumph, as the satisfaction of seeing Alexa's composed mask finally crack was delicious.
"She can't replace Rosalina, and now you know it." She tilted her chin, savoring the bitterness in the air, as though it were a fine wine. "All it took was one slip of her tongue to remind you of your loyalty… your grief… your love."
Nina clasped her hands in front of her chest, exhaling a laugh so soft it bordered on a purr. "And to think, you were beginning to soften. To let her into Aaron's life. Into your life."
She stepped toward the closed study door, running her fingers lightly along the carved wood, as though she could feel Marcus's torment vibrating on the other side.
"Yes," she murmured, her smile spreading wider. "Let her stumble, let her drown in her own mistakes. Because the more you push her away… the closer you'll come back to me."
Nina's eyes gleamed, the satisfaction almost intoxicating. She had waited so long for a misstep like this, for Marcus to be reminded that no woman could ever take Rosalina's place.
And Alexa—foolish, reckless Alexa—had handed her the opportunity wrapped in silver.
Nina turned and drifted down the hallway, her heels clicking lightly, a satisfied hum escaping her lips. For the first time in a long while, she felt power curling back into her grasp.
Yes. This was the beginning of Alexa's end.