Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
His words hung in the air, heavy with certainty. There was no hesitation in his tone, no doubt in his mind. A small part of me bristled. It was true—I had handled the ceremony, survived the madness of it—but his certainty that I was meant to be here gnawed at me. For a brief moment, the name Clarice hovered on the edge of my tongue. His second wife, the one no one spoke of openly, but whose presence lingered like a ghost in the shadows of the Isle. I knew she was still alive, somewhere here, but we had never spoken about her beyond the photograph.
I almost let the question slip, before catching myself.
This wasn’t the time, not here, not within the estate walls where every word was under scrutiny. I would ask him when we were alone, off the ground. For now, I held the question back, burying it deep.
“I do feel like I’m supposed to be here,” I replied honestly, my eyes meeting his. There was no point in lying to him, not now. “But I also can’t forget how I ended up here. The circumstances.” My voice faltered, and Anya’s face flashed in my mind, the weight of her memory crashing into me.
“I think about Anya. What happened to her. How I didn’t have a choice in coming to the Isle,” I continued, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. “It’s hard to reconcile those feelings. To feel like I belong when part of me still remembers that I was taken.”
There was a silence that followed, heavy and uncomfortable, as Alexander’s expression remained unreadable.
I didn’t know what I expected him to say, or if he even would. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer. No matter how much I had been pulled into his world, there was still that part of me that hadn’t forgotten the life I had before.
“Anya,” he said, his voice hardening slightly. “We’re going to put that subject to rest once and for all today.” His hand reached out, firm yet gentle, and he took mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“She fills spots in your mind that should be mine. I am your everything, there should be no one else inside that pretty head of yours.”
The intensity in his gaze, the conviction in his voice—it left no room for argument.
I hesitated, feeling the weight of what he was saying, the possessiveness that seemed to fuel every word. “I’m not sure it works that way,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended, as if part of me was already bending to his will.
His grin widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. “It does. It will,” he said confidently.
“Didn’t I tell you that you’d fall in love with me? Part of you already is.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “We’ll get there with the rest, my Lolita.”
My stomach flipped as I picked up the smoothie, taking a slow sip to ground myself. His Lolita. The words echoed in my mind, settling in a way that was both terrifying and undeniable. He was right part of me was already tethered to him, bound in ways I couldn’t fully understand. Even if I were to run away from the Isle, Alexander would forever be a part of me.
We finished the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence, the conversation lingering between us, but neither of us needed to say more. The weight of what had been spoken was enough for now.
I took another sip of my smoothie, and the question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind since the night before bubbled to the surface, despite my best efforts to suppress it.
I set my glass down, the coldness of it grounding me for a moment.
“Last night…” I started, my voice faltering slightly, “was that the only time I’ve ever eaten… that?” The thought made my stomach twist, and I almost gagged, the memory still too vivid, too raw. I hadn’t let myself dwell on it too much, afraid of where my mind would go if I did. But now, sitting across from him, I needed to know.
Alexander looked at me with a hint of amusement, as if my discomfort were mildly entertaining to him. “Let me show you something,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing. He extended his hand toward me, a gesture that felt commanding, not a request. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then I took his hand, the warmth of his skin familiar against mine. His fingers threaded through mine, and the small act sent a shiver through me, a reminder of how entangled I was with this man.
Without a word, he led me through the house, his grip firm, as though I might pull away at any moment, though I knew I wouldn’t. He took me into the kitchen, where everything was as pristine and well-ordered as usual. From there, we entered the massive pantry, a place I had grown familiar with early on. It was stocked with all my favorite treats—Dove chocolates, the flavored water I loved, even the rare strawberry macarons that had always been impossible to find outside of specialty bakeries.