CHAPTER ELEVEN

Under the warm cascade of water, Alexander washed my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp in slow, deliberate motions. It was comforting, and intimate in a way that felt too familiar.

There was something about him in moments like these that was almost disarming, something that made the dark intensity he usually carried fade just enough to reveal a gentler side. We'd spent so long in bed that my entire body felt both weightless and heavy, as if I were floating and sinking at the same time. I'd lost track of how many times he wound up inside me, how many ways he had twisted and bent me, leaving every part of me marked by him. I was exhausted and sated, yet somewhere deep inside, a slow burn still lingered, like embers waiting to reignite.

Now that we'd started this, there was no going back, and if he had his way—if the Isle really held the sway, he and the others claimed it did—I would be pregnant much sooner than later. I could feel that reality tightening around me, a noose slowly being pulled taut.

His grip tightened slightly, as if sensing my unease. "You're overthinking again," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. I swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on me. How had I let it get this far?

"I'm not," I protested, though we both knew it was a lie.

The truth was, my mind was spinning, unable to shut off. Being in his arms like this felt like flying and falling at once.

"You are," he insisted softly, turning me around to face him. His hands slid down my arms, holding me just tight enough that I couldn't pull away. His eyes, those piercing topaz eyes, locked onto mine, searching for whatever I was hiding.

"I can't stop thinking about it... what we just did," I confessed, my voice barely audible above the steady flow of the water.

A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face. "Good," he said, his fingers brushing a wet strand of hair from my cheek. "I don't want you to forget."

I looked away, feeling the heat rise to my face. "It's just… too much."

His thumb grazed my jawline, gently turning my face back to him. "You think you're scared of this, of us, but it's not fear you're feeling, is it?"

I swallowed, my pulse racing. He was right.

Fear wasn't what had me so tightly wound, and that realization terrified me more than anything. It was the pull, the intensity of the connection between us, that made me feel like I was losing myself piece by piece. He leaned in closer, his lips barely a breath away from mine. "You can't fight it forever, Lola. I'm already inside of you."

His words lingered in the air between us, heavy with truth and a dark promise. I could feel the weight of his control tightening, pulling me deeper into his world with every breath. My resistance, whatever I had left of it, felt like a distant echo.

I didn't respond, didn't have the strength to. Instead, I let the heat of the water and the warmth of his body wash over me, melting away the lingering tension. We stood like that for a while, the silence between us filled with unsaid things.

Eventually, he pulled away, reaching for the soap, and beginning to wash me with slow, deliberate movements. His hands never strayed far from me, tracing patterns across my skin as if he were claiming me all over again. I let him, my body moving on autopilot, too numb and too alive all at once.

Once we were clean, and the steam had wrapped us in its foggy embrace, he took a towel and began drying my hair, his touch lingering as he brushed it away from my face. "Would you like to watch a movie?" he asked, his voice as casual as if we were any normal couple after a long day.

I blinked at him in the mirror, still processing the question. "You… watch movies here?"

He paused and I realized he was holding back a laugh. "I use the internet too," he drawled, sarcasm thick in his tone.

The unexpected humor made me giggle, my face warming as I realized how out of place my question had been.

"A movie would be nice," I finally said, needing a distraction more than anything else.

He nodded, wrapping me in a plush robe that was waiting for me, its softness and warmth a perfect match for the temperature of the estate. Alexander led me to the lower level, where I had seen the theater room days ago, tucked away and so pristine that I had assumed it was just for decoration. But no, it wasn't. He guided me to the oversized, ridiculously plush sofa and tucked me beneath a large throw blanket, placing a remote in my hand. "Pick something," he said softly.

I glanced at him as he moved to the far side of the room, already pulling out the shiny popcorn machine and preparing it for use.

The sound of kernels popping quickly followed, the aroma filling the room as he poured himself a drink while waiting for the popcorn to finish. He wasn't in his usual suit, but a simple pair of black sweatpants.

His tattoo, the shaded Devil etched across the right side of his chest and down his arm, stood out in stark contrast against flawless, deep bronze skin. His dark hair was as usual styled impeccably with little effort, the thick strands pushed back.

The sight of him like this—relaxed, almost domestic—was hard to look away from. I found myself staring before quickly turning my attention to the screen in front of me, pretending to search for a movie. My eyes widened when I spotted a curated list under my name that included TV shows.

Home Alone.

Edward Scissorhands.

The Lost Boys.

Wayward Pines.

He had nearly all of my favorites. I should have been bothered. I should have been shocked that he had gone to such lengths to know this about me, to weave himself further into every aspect of my life.

I couldn't pretend to be. Not after the job and house revelation. Alexander had been brutally honest about having watched me, learning all he could before taking me. I was curious, though.

"How did you get this list?"

"I make it my business to know everything about you." His voice was calm, as if this level of intrusion into my life was perfectly normal. "Your preferences, your habits, your likes, your dislikes… it's all part of understanding you. Anticipating your needs."

He turned, watching me intently, gauging my reaction. "Besides," he added with a hint of amusement, "you had a Netflix account among other subscriptions, didn't you? That made things easier."

I swallowed, realizing just how deep his reach had been, even before I stepped foot on the Isle. The invasion of privacy should have made me furious, but instead, I felt something far more dangerous—a dark, twisted sense of intimacy.

I didn't think there were too many things Alex wouldn't do for me, within reason. Or secrets he wouldn't find out.

"What else do you know about me?"

His smile widened, a gleam of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "I know you hate the mornings, but you love the way the light comes through the curtains. I know your favorite color changes with your mood, and that you used to hum when you were nervous—until you taught yourself not to. I know the way you bite your lip when you're trying to make a decision, and that you've always dreamed of seeing the world, even though you never thought you'd have the chance."

His gaze darkened, his voice lowering to a murmur. "I know you think about running... but you won't. Not because you can't—but because deep down, you don't want to. You want this. Me. Even if you're not ready to admit it to yourself."

I could feel my heart pounding as he spoke, every word cutting deeper into the truth I hadn't yet fully confronted. Whatever expression I had on my face made him chuckle.

"There's much more. Should I keep going?"

"There's more ?" I was half-joking.

"You'd be surprised at how much I've learned, Lola. Like how you used to stay up until dawn reading books because it was the only way you could escape. Or how you always feel a little out of place, like you don't truly belong anywhere."

"I don't know what to say to that."

He smiled. "You don't need to say anything. We both know how you feel."

He came back over with a bowl of popcorn, a bottle of water, and the drink for himself with a coaster, setting everything on the coffee table before settling onto the sofa.

His arm draped behind my shoulders, tucking me into his side—casual, but undeniably possessive. It was like every touch of his had a purpose, a reminder that no matter how relaxed the moment seemed, I was still very much under his control.

"Is this one, okay?" I asked, my tone light.

"I'm fine with whatever you want," he replied softly.

I swallowed, quickly turning my attention to the remote. My fingers hovered over the titles he'd carefully selected for me, lingering for a moment before settling on Resident Evil.

The familiarity of it—Jill Valentine, the T-Virus, the constant chaos—was a welcome distraction. We settled in as the movie started, the sound of distant gunfire and the screech of zombies filling the room. I picked at the popcorn out of habit, barely tasting it.

Alexander sipped his drink slowly, his eyes flicking between the screen and me.

It was like he was waiting for something, his gaze so intent that it made my skin prickle. I forced myself to focus on the film. For a while, it worked. The action, the suspense, the noise—all of it pulled me in just enough to keep the memories of earlier at bay. At some point, I found myself leaning into him, resting my head on his shoulder as Jill Valentine fought her way through Raccoon City. Naturally, the respite was temporary. My mind began to wander, replaying the scene back at the Delacroix residence.

As if he sensed my thoughts drifting away from the film, Alexander shifted beside me, his hand slowly moving to my face. His thumb stroked my cheek in a way that felt almost tender, but there was that ever-present possessiveness behind the touch.

"Tell me what's on your mind," he murmured.

I didn't answer right away, unsure of how much to say.

He lowered his hand and reached for his drink. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a response, and the pressure to speak became unbearable.

"I can't stop thinking about what happened earlier," I admitted finally. "And all of this. About…Anya too."

For a moment, he was silent, as if weighing his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and controlled, but there was an edge to it. "Anya." He repeated her name slowly. "She's the past, Lolita. Your past. But she doesn't belong here. You do."

I looked at him, searching his face for something— anything —that would ease the knot in my chest. "But she's my best friend, Alex. I can't just...forget her."

He exhaled softly, almost pityingly, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm not asking you to forget her. I'm asking you to focus on what's in front of you. On what matters now." He paused, his fingers trailing down to my jaw, tilting my face up so I couldn't look away. "Do you understand? You're not the same person anymore, Lolita. And Anya...she wouldn't fit in this world. Our world."

There was a finality in his tone that made my stomach twist. I took a breath, trying to steady myself. "But I need to know, Alex. What happened to her?"

His grip on my jaw tightened, just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of the power he held. The softness from moments before evaporated, replaced by a simmering intensity that made the air around us heavy. "Lolita," he said slowly, his voice low, dangerously calm. "You're pushing something you don't want to push."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "I deserve to know—."

"What you deserve," he interrupted, "is to accept that she's gone. This is your life now. I am all you have now. I am your life now."

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. "What do you mean she's gone?"

His eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You'll find out soon enough." Then, just as quickly as the tension had built, he released me. "Don't look so heartbroken, deliciae. " The nickname rolled off his tongue, sweet and poisonous. "The little whore isn't dead yet. She's gone in the sense that she's no longer worthy enough to be in your life. You already knew that. It's for your own good. You'll see that soon. I'll prove it."

I swallowed, my mind reeling. Not dead yet. I wanted to press further, force him to tell me exactly where Anya was and what he had planned for her, but there was no forcing this man to do anything. I knew if I kept pushing him now, it would only make things worse—for me and for her, wherever she was being kept. With a deep breath, I settled back on the couch, pretending to focus on the movie.

My eyes followed the scenes playing out on the screen, but the images blurred together, my mind too preoccupied to take in anything. Alexander knew I wasn't paying attention anymore, but he didn't comment. Instead, he reached over, taking my legs and stretching them across his lap. He shifted slightly, settling in, utterly relaxed, his eyes fixed on the screen, as though nothing had changed. As though everything was as it should be.