Elise's POV
Breakfast was a strained, silent affair.
The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the tense air, and Elise barely touched her omelet, pushing the food around her plate.
Carter sat hunched over his coffee, scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.
Alexander watched him with a cool, unreadable gaze. Finally, he set his cup down with a deliberate clink and spoke.
"Carter," he said, voice calm but commanding, "I need you to meet with Samuel Greene today."
Carter looked up, frowning. "Sam Greene? From Greene & Associates?"
Alexander nodded. "He has a business proposal I want you to take a look at. Something... promising."
Carter hesitated, then shrugged. "Fine."
Minutes later, Carter had grabbed his jacket, keys dangling in his hands as he muttered a goodbye and slammed the door behind him.
Elise stared after him, still feeling the lingering sting of their fight from the night before.
She turned to clear the plates, desperate for something to occupy her hands and mine when she heard Alexander's voice behind her.
"Come with me."
She froze, glancing over her shoulder.
Alexander stood there, one hand casually in his pocket, the other gesturing for her to follow.
Without thinking, she obeyed.
They moved through the house, deeper and deeper into the west wing she'd never ventured into before. The halls here were quieter, the light softer.
He stopped in front of a pair of tall double doors.
With a single push, he opened them.
Elise gasped.
The room before her was nothing short of breathtaking.
Sunlight streamed through massive windows, illuminating walls lined with canvases—some blank, some filled with a lot of colors. Sculptures in various stages of completion stood on pedestals, their marble and clay forms frozen mid-expression. Paints and brushes were scattered across wide tables. There were looms set up for carpet making, stained glass pieces catching the light, shelves full of pottery supplies, sketch pads, weaving kits, embroidery sets, even jewel crafting tools.
One corner had calligraphy sets and parchment rolls. Another had bookbinding materials, unfinished leather covers stacked neatly.
And books. Hundreds of them.
Books about art, color theory, sculpture, architecture, history.
A creative heaven.
It was a dream.
Elise stepped inside slowly, as if afraid the vision would vanish if she didn't.
She could hardly breathe.
Alexander watched her with a small smile.
"Do you have an interest in art?" he asked, his voice softer here, almost loving.
"If not," he added, "I can take you out. Anywhere you like. Something to get your mind off... everything."
She turned to face him, heart thudding.
"I love art," she said simply, almost shyly. "Always have."
His brows rose slightly, surprised—and something warmer flickered in his gaze.
"Good," he said, stepping further into the room. "Come. Let me show you around."
They wandered between the sculptures and canvases, talking more freely than they had in days. Elise found herself laughing, truly laughing, as Alexander pointed out his own failed first attempts at pottery—most of which leaned dangerously to one side—and a painting he swore was supposed to be a horse but looked more like a drunk llama.
She felt light, giddy, the ache in her chest easing with each step.
"Can you paint?" he asked, stopping before a massive, half-finished landscape.
"Yes and I can do a bit of pottery as well." she said, smiling. "I even used to try bookbinding for a while. I loved getting my hands messy."
His smile widened in genuine amusement, a rare thing.
"Why did you stop?"
Her laughter died.
A shadow crossed her face.
"Carter hated it," she said quietly. "Said it was childish. A waste of time." She shrugged, but the movement was saddening. "Eventually I stopped. I thought... maybe he'd love me more if I did."
The air shifted.
Suddenly, Alexander was very close.
So close she could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the faint, clean scent of him—something sharp and male and devastatingly sexy.
He lifted his hand, slow and deliberate, and placed a finger under her chin.
Gently, he tilted her head up until her eyes met his.
The world seemed to fade away until it was just the two of them.
His voice was low and raspy as he spoke. "I'd never do that to you."
Elise's breath hitched.
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs as he leaned closer.
Closer.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Waiting.
Needing.
But instead of claiming her lips, he brushed a kiss against the corner of her mouth—soft, teasing, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Her eyes snapped open just as he buried his face into the curve of her neck.
He inhaled deeply, his breath hot against her skin, and a low, desperate groan escaped him.
Like he was fighting himself.
Fighting them.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might lose.
But with a ragged breath, Alexander pulled away.
His eyes were dark with hunger—but he smiled, a lazy, dangerous smile, as if daring her to follow him into the fire.
"Come," he said, his voice rough.
He led her across the room to a blank canvas waiting in the sunlight.
Her fingers itched to touch it.
To create again.
And beside her, Alexander waited, patient, offering her a piece of herself she thought she had lost.
A dangerous promise hung between them, as tender as a feather and as inevitable as the first brushstroke on a clean canvas.
And Elise realized that she was already falling.