The night was heavy with tension. Eleanor stood by the window of her bedroom, staring at the sprawling Blackthorne estate, her thoughts tangled in the events of the day.
Isla.
A woman who wore her face, spoke in her voice, and yet… was nothing like her.
Alexander had barely spoken after the breakfast confrontation. He had spent most of the day in meetings, handling whatever chaos Isla's presence had stirred. But Eleanor knew the truth—this wasn't just about Isla.
This was about Lucian.
A soft knock at the door broke her thoughts. She turned to see Alexander entering, his expression unreadable as he closed the door behind him.
"You're thinking too much," he said, his voice low.
Eleanor let out a humorless laugh. "Hard not to, when a stranger is walking around wearing my face."
Alexander walked toward her, stopping just inches away. His scent—dark, intoxicating—wrapped around her like a promise she wasn't sure she could trust.
"She can wear your face, Eleanor," he murmured. "But she can never be you."
His fingers brushed against her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. She should pull away. She should ask him the questions burning in her mind.
But instead, she whispered, "What if that's not enough?"
Alexander's jaw tensed. "It will be."
She searched his face. "Lucian sent her here for a reason."
"I know."
"And you still brought her into our home."
His hand slid up to her jaw, tilting her face toward him. "Because I don't run from threats, Eleanor. I face them. And I protect what's mine."
Her breath hitched at the possessiveness in his voice. At the way his fingers tightened slightly, grounding her, branding her.
She swallowed. "And am I, Alexander? Am I really yours?"
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "You already know the answer to that."
"Say it," she challenged, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't. That he would keep his distance like he always did. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned in.
His lips barely ghosted over hers, a cruel tease. "You're mine, Eleanor."
The words sent fire through her veins.
"And I don't share."
Then his lips crashed onto hers, and the world disappeared.
The kiss was hard, demanding—claiming.
Eleanor gasped as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.
This wasn't just a kiss.
This was a war.
A battle of dominance, of fire against fire.
Alexander pushed her back until she hit the wall, his body pressing into hers. She could feel his heartbeat—fast, wild, matching her own.
She had spent so long fighting him. So long pretending she didn't want this.
But the truth was, Alexander Blackthorne was in her blood. And there was no escaping him.
Not now. Not ever.
He pulled back slightly, his lips just a breath away from hers. "Still doubting what you are to me?"
Eleanor smirked, her fingers tracing down his chest. "Not at all."
His eyes darkened. "Good."
Because the moment she let herself fall…
There was no turning back.
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Next Chapter: A Game of Two Queens
As Eleanor and Alexander grow closer, Isla begins her dangerous game, planting seeds of doubt and deception. But when a shocking secret about Isla's true identity is revealed, Eleanor is forced to question everything—including Alexander's trust.
In a house full of secrets, the most dangerous lies are the ones whispered in the dark.
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