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The first rays of dawn painted the room in a soft, ethereal light, revealing the quiet disarray of the previous night. Alexander woke first, his eyes opening to the sight of Jane, a small, curled-up figure on the floor beside the couch. He frowned, a crease forming between his brows. He must have forgotten about her. He had been so consumed by his own turbulent thoughts that her presence had been nothing more than a faint shadow.
He got out of bed, his movements silent and graceful. He walked over to her, and a strange, unfamiliar impulse took hold of him. He knelt beside her, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face, the dark lashes fanning out against her pale cheeks. She looked so young, so innocent, so fragile in her sleep. A ghost of a smile, a rare and fleeting thing, touched his lips, but he quickly recovered, squashing the emotion before it could take root.
He noticed the way her body was awkwardly hunched, and he picked her up in his arms, a weightless bundle of silk and slumber. He placed her on the bed, his movements as gentle as a whisper, and pulled the duvet over her. He then walked to his closet, took out a change of clothes, and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.
Jane woke up a few hours later, a ray of sunlight on her face. She blinked, disoriented, and the first thing she noticed was the soft, expensive feel of the sheets beneath her. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up with a gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was in Alexander's bed. She scrambled out of it, a wild terror in her eyes, and frantically checked herself, her hands patting her body as if to find some trace of a violation. There was nothing. Her nightgown was still on, and she felt no pain. A wave of relief, so powerful it almost made her dizzy, washed over her. He hadn't touched her. He had put her on the bed, but he had left her alone.
She walked to the bathroom, the cold marble floor a stark contrast to the luxurious warmth of the duvet. The bathroom was a masterpiece of opulence. A large, jetted tub sat in one corner, and a massive walk-in shower, with multiple showerheads, occupied the other. The air was filled with the scent of expensive soaps and shampoos, and the towels were plush and thick. She took a long, hot shower, the water a soothing balm on her tired, aching body. It was a small moment of peace in the storm of her life.
When she left the room, dressed in a simple, elegant day dress, she was filled with a fresh sense of dread. She was now a prisoner, a living prop in Alexander's elaborate play. She had to be careful, every step she took, every word she said had to be carefully calculated. As she walked down the hall, she ran directly into Mrs. Collins, who was just leaving her own room.
"Good morning, my dear," Mrs. Collins said, her voice bright and cheerful. She gave Jane a warm hug, a hug that Jane had to force herself to return. "You look radiant this morning. My boy is a lucky man."
Jane's smile felt brittle, but she managed to make it look genuine. "Good morning, Mom."
They walked down to the dining room together, where a breakfast feast was laid out. There were fluffy buttermilk pancakes with fresh berries, a delicate salmon quiche, and platters of exotic fruits. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a rich, intoxicating aroma.
"Where is that boy of mine?" Mrs. Collins asked, a playful frown on her face. "How is it that you don't know where your boyfriend is?"
Jane's mind raced. "He... he had to take a very important call," she lied, the words coming out more easily than she expected. "He said he would be back soon."
Mrs. Collins simply laughed, a light, melodious sound. "That boy is such a trouble for you," she said, winking. "Always so concerned with his work, never with the woman he loves."
They both laughed, a fake, empty sound from Jane, a genuine one from Mrs. Collins. The older woman kept feeding Jane, pushing more pancakes and quiche onto her plate. "Eat, eat, my dear. You are too skinny. A strong man like my son needs a woman with some meat on her bones."
Jane ate, the delicious food tasting like ash in her mouth. She had to play the part, she had to act like a dutiful, loving girlfriend, or else her family would suffer.
"I just wanted to remind you," Mrs. Collins said, her voice a little more serious. "I'm throwing a party in a few days. The most important people in the country will be there. I expect you to be on your best behavior. This is your chance to show everyone that my son is finally serious about a woman."
Jane nodded, a silent promise. She knew Alexander had already told her about the party, but Mrs. Collins's reminder was a clear warning: this was a high-stakes game, and she had to play her part perfectly.
After breakfast, Mrs. Collins excused herself to make a call to her socialite friends, a call that would no doubt be about the party and her son's new girlfriend. Alexander went to his room, his face a mask of his usual cold indifference. Jane, feeling the need to escape the suffocating walls of the mansion, walked out into the massive estate.
She walked for what seemed like hours, a silent figure in a labyrinth of green. The air was fresh and cool, and the scent of flowers filled her senses. She needed to clear her head, to think, to find some way out of this living nightmare.
Mrs. Collins came back from her call, a triumphant smile on her face. She walked to the dining room, looking for Jane, but found it empty. She then went to Alexander's room, a concerned frown on her face. She knocked on the door and opened it, finding him in his study, a frown of concentration on his face.
"Alexander, where is Jane?" she asked, a note of worry in her voice.
Alexander's heart leaped into his throat. He hadn't seen her since breakfast. He had been so consumed with work that he hadn't even thought about her. His mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. She had escaped. His mother would find out. The entire charade would fall apart.
He fought to keep his composure, to keep the panic from showing on his face. He stood up, his jaw clenched. "She must be walking around the estate, Mother," he lied, his voice even. "I told her to wait for me in the dining room, but she must have wanted some fresh air."
"Oh, that's fine, dear," Mrs. Collins said, her voice softening. "But you must go find her. I don't want her to get lost."
Alexander low-key told his guards to search for her. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He was scared. He was terrified. If she had really escaped, his mother would find out, and he would lose the one person who truly loved him, the one person whose approval he secretly craved. He walked around the estate, his eyes scanning every corner, every bush, a cold knot of dread in his stomach. Almost for twenty minutes, he was searching, and the fear was growing, a cold, icy hand squeezing his heart.
Just then, he heard it. A cry. A sharp, terrified sound that was followed by a sharp, deafening bang. It wasn't a gunshot, he realized, but a warning shot, a sonic grenade meant to scare away any wild animals. He followed the sound, his feet pounding against the ground, his heart in his throat.
He burst into a small clearing, a beautiful little garden filled with roses and a small fountain. Jane was there, her body frozen in terror, her eyes wide with shock. A large, beautiful white Siberian Husky, a magnificent beast with piercing blue eyes, was chasing her. It wasn't an attack, but a playful chase, but to Jane, it was a terrifying nightmare.
"Luna!" Alexander commanded, his voice a sharp blade of authority. The dog immediately stopped, its ears perked up, its tail wagging. It looked at its owner with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. Luna was Alexander's pet, his favorite companion, a dog that had been trained to be a protector and a friend, and had been met to stay in this side of the estate because of his aggressive looks although friendly, but just to Alexander its owner.
Jane, her body still shaking, her mind still in a state of terror, saw Alexander, and in that moment, he wasn't a monster. He was her only hope. She ran, her feet flying over the grass, and threw herself into his arms. Her hands clutched his shirt, her body shivering uncontrollably. She pointed a trembling finger at the huge dog. "It… it was chasing me," she stammered, her voice a raw, broken whisper.
Alexander held her, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. The fear in her body, the frantic beating of her heart, was a palpable thing. The cold, hard mask he wore for the world crumbled away for a single, fleeting second.
"You wanted to run away, isn't it?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"No," she sobbed, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her face. "That's not true. I was just walking around." Her hands, still clutching his shirt, tightened their grip. She was lost in her emotions, lost in the terror of the moment. "Please… don't punish me tonight," she begged, the words a desperate whisper against his chest. She hated this weak side of her, this pathetic display of fear.
"What's going on there?" a voice asked.
It was Mrs. Collins. She had heard Jane's sobs, a sound that had brought her to the window of her own room. She saw her son holding a terrified, crying Jane in his arms, and a small, satisfied smile touched her lips.
Jane was too lost in her emotions to hear Mrs. Collins. But Alexander heard her. He looked at his mother, then down at the terrified girl in his arms. The truth, he knew, would destroy everything. He had to do something, something to make the lie feel real, to make his mother believe.
He bent his head down and, with a swift, decisive move, he kissed her. It was a hard, possessive kiss, a kiss that was meant to be a show, a performance for his mother's benefit. But as his lips met hers, he felt a jolt, a spark of electricity that was completely unexpected. He kissed her for almost a minute, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deliberate dance of possession and power.
Jane was so shocked that she froze. Her brain, which had been a whirlwind of fear and despair, suddenly went blank. He was kissing her. In front of the guards, the maids, and his mother. When he finally pulled away, she was trembling, her eyes wide with shock. She pushed him away with a harsh, unyielding shove. The sight of Luna, the magnificent dog, now running toward them, made her throw herself back into his arms, a pathetic display of terror.
"Lock Luna up," Alexander commanded the guards around him, his voice a sharp blade of authority. He held Jane, her body shaking like a leaf in the wind.
Mrs. Collins, who had been watching the scene with a mixture of surprise and delight, walked toward them, her face filled with concern. "Oh, my poor girl," she said, her voice soft and soothing. She reached out and rubbed Jane's back, a comforting gesture that made Jane want to cry even more. "That dog must have disturbed you while you were walking around. Such a pity. My son never told you about his favorite pet."
She looked at Alexander, a knowing smile on her face. "Take her to your room, dear," she said, her voice a whisper. "She needs to rest. I'll make sure she's not disturbed."
Alexander hesitated. He had intended to take her back to his room, but his mother's suggestion to take her to "her room" felt like a trap. "She's fine, Mother," he said, his voice clipped.
"No, she's not," Mrs. Collins insisted, her voice firm. "She's shaken. Take her to my room. I want her to feel safe."
He knew there was no arguing with his mother. He led a still-shaking Jane to her room, a beautifully decorated, feminine space that was a stark contrast to his own cold, masculine one.
Mrs. Collins couldn't help but smile after recalling the kiss. The genuine affection in her son's eyes, the way he had held Jane, the powerful, possessive kiss—it all confirmed her hopes. Her son had never liked a girl. All the ones she had been arranging for him, the beautiful, wealthy socialites, didn't move him. But Jane… Jane was different. She was a natural beauty with a genuine heart. Mrs. Collins was really happy that her son now liked someone, that he was finally opening up to the possibility of love. The charade, she thought with a triumphant smile, was working better than she had ever dared to dream.