CHAPTER 42

Xander’s POV

The silence had been shattered only by the soft, steady sound of Beatrice’s breathing. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, throwing long shadows behind everything in the room, giving it all an almost muted glow. The air had a faint scent of her — soft, warm, unmistakably hers. It was an unknown comfort, one I had never let myself experience before.

I wasn’t used to being next to someone when I woke up.

Night after night for years, my sleep had been fitful, the dreams tormenting me as they gnawed at my sanity. 

The darkness had been my ever-present companion, reminding me of my failures, my losses, the blood on my hands. Not when the ghosts of the past were waiting for me with their arms open wide as soon as I closed my eyes.

But last night… last night was special.

I had slept undisturbed for the first time in years.

No nightmares. No echoes of the past. Just silence.

I turned a little, trying not to disturb the woman next to me. I looked over at Beatrice, who was still sleeping, her face relaxed, her breath deep and even. The dusky illumination would have aged any other woman years, but instead it lent her a number that could barely be called a face, but rather a divine apparition, the never-worked-a-day-in-her-job tired-free, and life could not have hit her outside this shimmering mind.

Her long lashes cast shadowy shapes against her cheeks, her full lips parted slightly as she breathed. Her hair, a wild tangle of waves, was draped over the pillow, and one lithe arm lay mere inches from mine.

I shouldn’t be staring.

But I couldn’t help it.

Nothing in my chest when tight — a sensation I couldn’t comprehend. Something foreign. Something dangerous.

I reached out with instinct, my fingertips lingering close to the curve of her cheek. For one brief moment, I pictured what that might be like — to feel her, to allow myself this moment of indulgence. Would she feel as soft as she looked? Would she lean into my touch?

The thought pierced a sharp wave of something I could not help in me.

I made a fist and reared back.

This is nothing.

“I wasn’t a daughter, I was just a responsibility. Someone I had promised to protect.

That was all.

I turned my head away, quashing the strange feeling knotting itself in my gut. I turned slowly so as not to wake her and pulled the covers up to her shoulders where the warmth would make a cocoon around her little body before crawling out of bed.

The moment my feet hit the cold floor, the softness of the moment disappeared and my feelings clicked back in.

I needed to focus.

The world outside this room remained perilous.

And I still had enemies to kill.

When I got into the gym, it was empty — just how I liked it. The smell of metal, of sweat, of rubber, tethered me to something solid, something that existed outside of my imagination.

I began my routine straight away.

Weights.

Sprints.

Combat drills.

Each rep, each strike, each breath carefully calculated was distraction, a way to drown out the thoughts in my head. Sweat poured down my temples, muscle fibers burning, lungs contracting and expanding with each thrust.

But the harder I pushed myself, the less quiet my mind would be.

No matter how I tried to drown it out, last night’s event replayed in my head like a curse.

Beatrice’s terrified face. The man’s hands on her.

Her voice calling my name.

The rage that flooded through me then — the primal, animal rage — was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I had made it there in time — just — but what if I hadn’t?

What if I’d come a second too late?

I hit the sandbag as hard as I could.

Then again.

And again.

Until my knuckles were on fire and the bag swung violently upon impact.

I had done what I needed to do. The moment I’d carried Beatrice from that fucking party I’d ordered him eliminated.

But it still wasn’t enough.

I wanted to tear him apart myself.

My wolf laughed in agreement, prowling in me. He’d wanted blood last night, but I’d refrained — for her sake.

Beatrice.

She was becoming a liability, and liabilities were dangerous.

I couldn’t afford this.

I couldn’t afford her.

I returned to my suite after a grueling workout, eager to dial the number as I stepped onto my balcony.

The sky was a dull gray, the far-below city already stirring with life.

It rang twice before Ryder answered.

“It’s finished,” he said, without hesitation. “Clean. No loose ends.”

I sighed, gripping the railing and gazing out at the skyline.

Beatrice must never know.

She was too kind, too soft-hearted to see the need for what I did. She lived in a world where justice and morality were black and white, and monsters lived only in stories.

But in my world?

Kindness got people killed.

“She can never know,” I said, my voice steel.

“She won’t,” Ryder said, comforting me. “The body will not be found. They will not trace it back to us.

Good.

And while I ended the call, the tension in my chest didn’t go away.

It should have.

But instead, for the first time, I felt something odd. Something heavy, unfamiliar, pressed against my ribs.

I had done everything to keep Beatrice safe.

But why did I feel like I was doing something wrong.

My Moment Of RealizationMaturity, The Moment I Realized She Knew

As soon as I went back inside, I knew something was wrong.

The air felt different.

Beatrice was awake.

She sat up in bed, her legs curled under her, her arms around herself. But it wasn’t only the way she sat that twisted my stomach; it was her eyes.

She was watching me.

There was something inscrutable in her expression, but her gaze was keen. Too sharp.

Suspicion.

I clenched my jaw.

She had heard something.

“What did you do, Xander?” she asked softly.

My face remained blank. “What are you talking about?”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “You made a call.”

I gave her a lazy shrug. “Business.”

Her lips flattened into a fine line. “You’re lying.”

Damn it.

I stepped closer, standing at her foot, over her. “Beatrice, drop it.”

She held my gaze, unmoving. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll discover it on my own.”

My stomach tightened.

For the first time in my life I felt something verging on fear.

Not fear for myself — fear of what she would do if she knew the truth.

Her eyes don’t leave the other person’s.

“If you’re not going to tell me,” she says, steady of voice, “then I’ll find someone who is.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and choking. The warmth had left Beatrice's eyes, replaced by something new altogether: doubt.

She was not going to let it drop.

I breathed out, brushing a hand through my hair. There was no use in lying. She was insistent, dogged when she wanted the truth, and if I didn’t tell her, she would learn it in some other fashion.

And that was something I definitely couldn’t risk.

So, I told her.

Not every detail, nor the bloody reality of it, but enough. Enough for her to understand.

“I handled that,” I said evenly but strongly. “He won’t be bothering you no more.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Then there was a heavy silence.

Then, slowly, her lips had parted, and I saw it — the shock on her face, how her body stiffened, as if she didn’t know how to respond.

I expected anger.

I expected accusations.

But what I didn’t expect was for her to express gratitude.

“Thank you, Xander,” she whispered, so softly Xander almost couldn’t hear her.

I looked at her with a frown, careful not to budge. “You’re not upset?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how I feel, but… I know I should feel angry. I should hate you for making decisions without consulting me.” She swallowed, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “But I don’t. Because for the first time in forever, I feel … safe.”

That word.

Safe.

It settled in my chest, dug into places it didn’t know were even there.

She had turned away then embarrassed by her own words, then wiggled under the covers. “You should go freshen up. I can handle myself.”

I hesitated for a second, hovering in the doorway, but then nodded. Without saying another word, I walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

When I turned on the shower, the water felt like ice, but I allowed it to numb my skin.

I needed the cold.

Needed the distraction.

Because Beatrice had just thanked me for committing a monstrous act.

And instead of feeling guilty … I felt something perilously close to satisfaction.

When I finally climbed out of the shower, Beatrice had already risen and was dressed in a simple sweater and jeans, her hair in a loose ponytail.

She scarcely glanced at me as she busied herself with the room, but I could sense the change in the air. Something in between us had shifted.

But I didn’t push.