The clock struck midnight, but Eleanor wasn't asleep. The soft glow of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the room, but it did nothing to soothe the storm raging inside her. She sat on the couch, gripping the photograph so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded against her ribs, every beat a reminder of the betrayal she had just uncovered.
She had spent weeks telling herself that Isla was playing a game. That her words, her carefully placed smirks, and her knowing glances were all calculated moves to create doubt.
But now?
Now, Eleanor wasn't sure anymore.
Because this—this photograph—was proof that Alexander had been keeping secrets from her.
She had told herself she wouldn't let Isla's words get to her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't erase the image of Alexander and Isla standing too close, his face unreadable, as if there was something unspoken between them.
A part of her wanted to believe that it was nothing. That Isla had twisted the truth, manipulated the moment. But Alexander's silence… that was what truly scared her.
He had lied to her. Maybe not directly, but by omission. And that, in itself, was a betrayal.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the door. Eleanor straightened, her grip tightening around the photograph as the door swung open.
Alexander stepped inside, his expression unreadable. His suit jacket was off, the top buttons of his shirt undone, as if the weight of the day had worn him down. But the moment he saw her, his entire posture changed—his sharp eyes landing on the photograph in her lap.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, his voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Where did you get that?"
Eleanor didn't flinch. "So it's real, then."
His jaw tightened. "It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
Silence.
Eleanor laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "That's what I thought." She stood up, her anger burning hotter than the fire beside her. "When were you going to tell me, Alexander? That you knew Isla before the auction? That she wasn't just some stranger?"
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I was going to tell you."
"When?" she challenged. "When she had completely destroyed us?"
His eyes flashed. "I wouldn't let that happen."
"But you already have," she whispered.
And for the first time, she saw it—the flicker of guilt in his expression.
Eleanor clenched her jaw. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Alexander took a step closer. "Because it didn't matter."
She scoffed. "It didn't matter?" She held up the photograph, her hands trembling with frustration. "Then explain this."
Alexander took it from her, glanced at it once, and then—without hesitation—ripped it in half.
Eleanor gasped, stepping back. "Are you kidding me?"
"I told you, it's not what you think," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "This is Isla's game. And if you let it get inside your head, she wins."
"Then tell me the truth, Alexander," she shot back. "What is she to you?"
His lips parted, but he hesitated. And that hesitation was enough.
Eleanor felt something inside her crack.
"You can't even say it," she whispered. "Because you know whatever comes out of your mouth will be another lie."
His eyes darkened. "You think I'm lying to you?"
"I think you're hiding something."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, his body taut with tension. "And what if I am?"
Eleanor inhaled sharply. "Then you're no different from Isla."
His entire body stilled.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
And then, suddenly, Alexander closed the distance between them, his hands gripping her arms.
"You think I don't care?" His voice was rough, filled with something raw. "You think I would let her come between us?"
Eleanor tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let her.
"I need you to trust me," he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. "Because if you don't, we lose."
Her breath hitched. "Then give me a reason to."
Alexander exhaled, his grip on her tightening. "I will."
Before she could say anything, his lips crashed onto hers.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle.
It was desperate.
Like a man trying to prove something.
Like a man trying to hold on before everything shattered.
Eleanor should have resisted. Should have pulled away.
But she didn't.
Because for all the doubts in her mind, her heart still knew the truth—Alexander Blackthorne was the only man she had ever belonged to.
And that scared her more than anything.
As he deepened the kiss, her hands fisted into his shirt, her body betraying her anger. But when his hands slid to her waist, pulling her impossibly close, the fury in her veins mixed with something else entirely—need.
She hated him for making her feel this way.
She hated how easily she melted under his touch.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling.
"I'll fix this," he whispered.
Eleanor swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You better."
Because if he didn't…
She wasn't sure she'd survive it.
---
Next Chapter: The Price of Trust
Eleanor isn't ready to forgive, but she isn't ready to walk away either. As tensions rise, Alexander makes a dangerous move to prove his loyalty. But when Isla strikes again, this time with a secret that could ruin them both, Eleanor is faced with a choice—trust the man she loves or risk losing everything.
Will Alexander's truth be enough? Or is this a game neither of them can win?