chapter 6

Weeks had passed in this gilded cage, and I still couldn’t make sense of the pull I felt whenever he was near. It was like being caught in a storm, the winds tearing at me, throwing me off balance. I hated the power Alaric had over me, and yet...something in me couldn’t seem to resist it.

Shaking off the thoughts, I grabbed the book I’d been reading and headed to the garden. The soft morning light spilled through the windows, and the air smelled faintly of roses and fresh-cut grass. At least the garden was mine to enjoy—it was the one place in this sprawling mansion that felt almost peaceful.

I stepped out onto the stone pathway, my sore body relishing the fresh air. My muscles still ached from the surgery, but I wasn’t one to let pain stop me. I needed to move, to breathe, to find something to keep my mind from spiraling.

As I rounded the corner near the east wing, I heard his voice.

Alaric’s deep, commanding tone cut through the quiet like a blade. I stopped mid-step, clutching my book to my chest.

He sounded angry.

I knew better than to meddle in his affairs. Whatever business he conducted was none of mine. But something about the way his voice carried—sharp, biting—made my heart race.

I was about to turn back when I heard the unmistakable sound of something shattering.

My breath hitched. What was going on?

Curiosity got the better of me, as it always did. I followed the sound, each step cautious, my slippers barely making a sound against the polished floor. It led me to two large oak doors, slightly ajar, but still imposing.

This must be his room.

I hesitated, the sensible part of me screaming to turn around. But then I heard him again, his voice lower now, cold and dangerous.

"Get rid of them. All of them."

My stomach dropped.

I pressed my ear closer to the door, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. *Get rid of them?* Was he talking about…killing people?

The rumors I’d heard about him—the whispers of bloodshed and power, the stories of how he’d become the feared mafia king—came rushing back.

My hands shook as I clutched my book tighter.

I tried to move, to leave before he noticed me. But my curiosity rooted me in place. Slowly, I bent down and peeked through the keyhole.

Alaric stood with his back to the door, phone in hand. His broad shoulders were tense, his black shirt clinging to him like a second skin.

“I don’t want excuses,” he growled. “It’s handled today, or I’ll do it myself.”

I covered my mouth, my heart thundering in my chest.

What was I even doing here? I needed to leave before—

The door swung open with such force that I lost my balance. I stumbled forward, and before I could hit the ground, a strong arm shot out and caught me.

My book fell to the floor with a thud, but all I could focus on was the searing heat of his hand gripping my waist, steadying me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alaric’s voice was low, dangerous, and far too close.

I looked up, my wide brown eyes meeting his stormy grey ones. For a moment, all I could do was stammer, my brain struggling to come up with an excuse.

“I…I heard something,” I managed. “It sounded like someone was hurt. I was just—”

His grip tightened slightly, his fingers digging into my waist. “So you thought it was a good idea to snoop around?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the words died in my throat when I saw the shattered glass table near his bed. The shards glinted in the light, a stark reminder of his temper.

“I wasn’t snooping,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I just—”

He didn’t let me finish. In one swift motion, he grabbed my neck, his fingers wrapping around my throat—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point.

“Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in?” he murmured, his voice like a dark melody.

I froze, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

His hand wasn’t rough, but the weight of it sent a jolt of electricity through me. My skin burned where he touched me, and every nerve in my body seemed to come alive.

I should have been scared.

But I wasn’t.

Instead, I felt…drawn to him.

His grey eyes locked onto mine, and I swore the air between us shifted. My chest rose and fell rapidly as his gaze flickered down to my lips, then to the hollow of my throat, lingering there as if something unseen was pulling him closer.

“You have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, his voice a low growl.

I wanted to look away, to break free from the spell he seemed to have over me, but I couldn’t. His thumb brushed the side of my neck, sending a trail of sparks down my spine.

My body betrayed me.

Heat pooled in my core. I felt my panties get wet, and I felt a wave of shame crash over me. How could I react to him like this? He was a monster.

Yet, as I stared into his eyes, I felt something I couldn’t explain. It was like he wasn’t just looking at me—he was seeing me, all of me, and the intensity of it made my knees weak.

“You’re hurting me,” I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

He loosened his grip immediately, but his hand didn’t leave my neck. Instead, he held me there, his eyes searching mine.

“Do you think I’m a good man, Vanessa?” he asked softly.

I swallowed hard, my throat brushing against his palm. “No.”

His lips curved into a bitter smile. “Good. Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking otherwise.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something raw and unguarded in them.

Then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed me, he let me go.

The loss of his touch left me cold, and I hated myself for it.

“Stay out of my business,” he said, his voice hard again. “Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”

He turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, trembling and confused.

I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my body felt like it was on fire.

What the hell had just happened?

I glanced down at the book I’d dropped and bent to pick it up, my hands still shaking. My reflection in the shattered glass caught my eye. My cheeks were flushed, my lips slightly parted, and my brown eyes wide with something I didn’t want to admit.

The worst part wasn’t the shame or the confusion.

The worst part was that a part of me wanted him to come back.