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The day was thick with a silence that hadn't settled over the Alexander estate in weeks. It was the kind of quiet that held its breath, a stark contrast to the usual hurried footsteps of maids and the distant hum of gardeners. Alexander hadn't left for his office that morning, an unusual occurrence that had the entire staff on edge. He sat in his study, a leather-bound book open on his lap, though his eyes weren't truly on the text. He was waiting.
He had promised his mother he would be there. He would be waiting.
The scent of roasting lamb and garlic filled the air, a delicious promise of a meal expertly prepared by the head chef. Alexander closed the book and strode toward the dining room. The mahogany table was set for two, a pristine white cloth and gleaming silver a testament to the staff's impeccable standards. He looked at the two places, one at the head of the table, and the other far, far down at the opposite end. He had a sudden, inexplicable urge to move the settings closer, but he squashed the impulse as soon as it formed.
Dinner was served, but the second chair remained empty.
A frown creased Alexander's brow. He looked at a nearby maid, whose gaze was fixed on the floor. "Where is she?" he asked, his voice low and even, but with an undercurrent of impatience that made the woman flinch.
"Sir, we… we have been trying to get her to come down," she stammered. "She refuses."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Try harder."
Nineteen minutes. He had counted every one of them. He sat in silence, the steam rising from his untouched plate, the only sound the faint ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. It was a silent battle, and Alexander felt a flare of irritation. He was used to obedience, not defiance. Especially not from her.
Just as he was about to rise, the sound of soft footsteps echoed down the long hall. Jane appeared at the doorway.
She was dressed in a simple, dark dress that the maids had laid out for her. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame a face that was pale and drawn. But it was her eyes that held him. They were stormy and defiant, with a haunted glint that hadn't been there before. She wasn't just afraid; she was furious.
She didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on the far end of the table, where the maid had laid her place setting. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if each step was a conscious act of rebellion. The moment she sat down, she scooted the chair back, putting as much distance between them as the long table would allow. It was a silent, powerful rejection.
For the first time since he'd known her, Alexander truly saw her. He had seen her as a problem, a debt, a liability. He had seen her as a furious, sobbing woman, a disobedient rabbit running from a trap. He had never seen her as she was right then. Beautiful. The soft light of the chandelier caught the delicate curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. There was a fragile strength in her silence, a kind of fierce beauty in her unbroken spirit. The bruises on her arms, which he had dabbed with a cool cloth the day before, were blooming a dark, mottled purple beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
He felt a strange tightening in his chest, a flicker of something he couldn't name. It was not a physical attraction, not a simple admiration. It was something else. He hated it. He hated the way she could get under his skin without saying a word.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, the words surprising even himself. He hadn't intended to ask. The question was a lapse, a crack in his carefully constructed ice.
Jane's eyes finally met his. They were filled with a raw, blistering pain. The bruises on her body were nothing compared to the wounds he had inflicted on her pride and her soul. She hated that he had seen her like this, that he had witnessed her humiliation. She hated that he was sitting there, so calm and composed, while she was a storm of broken pieces.
"It has nothing to do with you," she said, her voice a low hiss, each word a shard of glass. "You are supposed to prepare me for the next punishment, instead of that question."
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. The maid who was serving them froze, her hands hovering over a platter of vegetables.
A muscle in Alexander's jaw ticked. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, humorless smile spreading across his lips. It was a cold, calculated expression, not of amusement, but of a man who had just been challenged.
"If that's what you want," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that seemed to fill the vast room. "Then today you will take the punishment."
Jane's breath hitched. Her hand, which had been resting on the table, balled into a fist. She knew he was a man of his word. She had seen it in the way he gave orders, in the way his guards obeyed without question. A wave of dread washed over her. Her body still ached from her escape attempt; she could still feel the phantom pain of humiliation. The thought of another "punishment" sent a shiver of pure terror down her spine.
"But before I forget," he continued, the sinister smile never leaving his face, "I want you to come to my room later so you can prepare how couples should behave."
He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. He didn't look at her, didn't spare her another glance. He simply stood up and walked away, his footsteps fading down the hall. His expression was dark, his face a mask of stone without a hint of a smile.
Jane was left sitting alone at the long table, the delicious food now nothing more than a grotesque display. The taste of betrayal, fear, and hatred was a bitter tang in her mouth. She couldn't eat. She couldn't even breathe. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs, and her mind screamed with a single, burning thought: she really hates this man called Alexander. He deserves to die.