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The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time Alexander's sleek black car pulled into the driveway of his sprawling estate. The sky was a canvas of bruised purples and fading embers of daylight, casting long shadows over the manicured lawns. Inside the house, silence reigned like a monarch, broken only by the soft hum of the security system and the distant tick of a grandfather clock somewhere in the main hall.
As Alexander stepped through the grand entrance, his tailored suit slightly rumpled from the day's demands, he paused for a moment and glanced around with something almost unfamiliar flickering behind his steely eyes — concern.
"Where is she?" he asked, voice low but commanding.
The maids and guards, who were gathered in the kitchen preparing to close for the night, exchanged surprised looks. It was the first time he had ever asked about Jane since she'd arrived under his roof.
One maid, a middle-aged woman named Martha, cleared her throat cautiously. "She's in her room, sir. Sitting by the window, lost in thought."
Alexander nodded curtly, pushing past the small crowd without another word. His footsteps echoed down the long corridor lined with expensive paintings and thick Persian rugs. The air was cool, scented faintly with lavender and the remnants of the evening's cleaning.
When he reached the heavy oak door to Jane's room, he hesitated for just a heartbeat before opening it. The sight that greeted him made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
Jane sat curled in a large armchair by the window, the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains and casting soft silver patterns on her pale skin. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, distant and unfocused, her usually neat hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
Alexander had expected her to be asleep — maybe crying silently — but not this stillness. Not this quiet despair.
His heart, cold and guarded for so long, twisted in a way he couldn't explain.
Jane's head jerked up at the sound of the door opening. Her eyes widened with sudden fear as she instinctively shrank back, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress.
"Please… please don't hit me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Alexander's lips twitched into something almost like a smile. "I won't," he said softly, "if you remain a good girl."
He moved to the ornate washbasin across the room, filling a crystal pitcher with cold water and carefully carrying it over to her. Gently, he lifted a soft cloth and dabbed at the bruises blooming across her arms and legs. Jane flinched but didn't pull away.
After a long moment, Alexander sat on the edge of a nearby chair, his voice dropping into a serious tone. "Mom is coming in three days," he said quietly, watching her reaction.
Jane's eyes flickered, confusion mingling with dread.
"I'll have the doctor attend to your wounds," Alexander continued, "and from now on, you will act as my girlfriend."
Jane's breath hitched sharply. "What?"
"You heard me," Alexander said, voice firm. "This charade is for appearances only. If you want to stay here, you have to play the part."
Her mind raced, heart pounding like a trapped bird in her chest. The bitter truth settled over her like ice — there was no escape, no mercy, only the cold, hard reality of Alexander's world.
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