CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I woke with a dull ache at the back of my head and an overwhelming soreness that spread through my entire body. Every muscle felt tender, bruised, like I'd been through a marathon I didn't remember fully running. As I blinked against the soft light filtering into the room, fragments of the night before slowly began to drift back to me. Alexander—he'd come to bed at some point, his body moving inside me even as I slept. The memory was hazy, a fever dream of heat and need, of his hands gripping my hips, pulling me to him.

I vaguely remembered the weight of him after, the way he'd held me close as he fell asleep.

Now, the bed was empty, not unusual for him. I rolled onto my back, wincing as the soreness flared, and let out a slow breath. It was always like this. The nights were a blur of intensity, and the mornings left me aching in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant but made me feel... owned. I belonged somewhere.

My gaze drifted across the room, and there, by the bedside, was the familiar vase. As always, the flowers had been replaced with fresh ones, their vibrant colors spilling across the dark wood. A new addition caught my eye—a deep burgundy rose, its petals rich and velvety, standing out against the other blooms. I traced its lines with my eyes, feeling the weight of what it meant. Even working from home most days, Alexander still never left me without some reminder of his presence.

Pushing back the covers, I slid out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool floor as I made my way to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The sun was already high, casting its light across the still water of the lake just beyond the estate. The serenity outside stood in sharp contrast to the chaos that had taken place the night before. I could still feel it—lingering on the edges of my mind, flashes of fire and chanting, of Alexander pressing me up against a tree, his breath hot on my neck as he whispered things I wasn't ready to process.

Shaking off the thoughts, I padded toward the bathroom. My mouth felt dry—cotton mouth, as if I hadn't drunk water in days. My jaw ached too, a dull throb that reminded me of the more intimate parts of the night. I could still feel the imprint of Alexander's touch, the way he had guided me, taking what he wanted, what I'd given him willingly.

I tried not to think about the deeper parts of what I'd felt... the darkness that had crept into the pleasure.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was tangled, and my skin looked flushed, marked in places where Alexander's hands had lingered. I sighed and grabbed my toothbrush, working it around my mouth, the minty taste doing little to quench the dryness in my throat. As I brushed, bits and pieces of the night before began to surface.

The ceremony. Flames licking up the sides of the inverted cross. The women dancing in circles, their faces hidden beneath dark veils. Emilia's screams, raw and primal, and the haunting rhythm of the music that had followed, sinking into my skin, into my soul. My body pressed against the tree, Alexander behind me, his breath hot and heavy in my ear, his hands lifting my gown as he whispered those words— this is where you belong .

I spat into the sink, gripping the edge of the counter as the memories hit harder. The ritual. The madness of it all. The way I had wanted him, even amid that nightmare. My jaw tightened against the ache, and I rinsed my mouth, staring at myself in the mirror again, searching for... what? A sign of change? A mark of what had happened? They were there. The faint marks from the trees and an outline of fingerprints around my throat like a necklace.

The memory hit me all at once, sharp and nauseating—the taste, the texture, the realization of what I had consumed the night before. It clawed its way out of my stomach before I could stop it, and I was running, stumbling into the small room where the toilet sat. I barely made it before I started retching, my body shaking with each violent heave as the bile burned its way up my throat.

I couldn't stop.

I couldn't unthink it—the taste of the flesh, the horror of what it had been.

My body rebelled against the memory, forcing out everything it could. I felt hands in my hair, pulling it back, keeping it away from my face. His touch was steady, unbothered. He stayed silent, his presence unshakable, as I emptied the last of the contents of my stomach.

When it was over, I slumped against the toilet, exhausted and ashamed. He flushed for me without a word, then handed me a small, damp rag. I wiped my mouth, the sour taste still lingering as I tried to regain control of myself, my breathing uneven and ragged. Alexander stood by, calm and patient, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

With his hand at the small of my back, he gently guided me back to the sink. The gesture was so careful, so precise, that for a moment, the horror of what I had done slipped away, replaced by the cold, steady comfort of his control.

I grabbed my toothbrush again, scrubbing my teeth furiously, trying to erase the memory, the taste, the entire nightmare of the previous night. Alexander stood beside me, watching, his reflection in the mirror as steady and composed as ever, a silent observer in this moment of weakness. When I finished brushing, I glanced at him, searching for something in his eyes. Comfort? Reassurance? Or an acknowledgment of what I'd just gone through. He simply stood there, his gaze unreadable, his control unshakable.

He didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

I was his, and this—everything I had just gone through—was just another part of what that meant. Alexander stepped forward, finally breaking the silence between us. His hands, firm yet gentle, cupped my face, tilting it upward so I had no choice but to meet his stare.

"Better?" he asked,

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure if I felt better. Something about his touch, his presence, made me feel less... scattered.

"Good." His lips brushed against my forehead in a brief kiss, the warmth of it sinking into my skin. I breathed him in, the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk, both familiar and, in some strange way, comforting. Despite everything—despite the madness of the night before—he was always steady. Always there.

Somehow, that steadiness was enough to ground me.

"I'm all yours for the day," he said, his hands slipping away from my face as he stepped back, allowing me space to breathe. "After you get dressed, we'll have something light to eat, and then head out."

"Head out?" I repeated, my voice rough but curious. The idea of leaving the estate felt foreign, especially after everything that had happened.

He grinned, the expression catching me off guard with its ease. "Our first real outing as a couple. A bit late, I know," he added with a teasing lilt in his voice, but there was an edge to it as if this outing was more than just an ordinary day together.

His grin, his words, made something flutter deep in my chest—a reminder that even in this twisted world, there was a thread of normalcy, however thin.

"What are we doing?" I asked, still uncertain but intrigued.

"You'll see," he replied, the smirk on his lips widening just slightly before he turned toward the door, leaving me standing in front of the mirror, my thoughts trailing behind him.

Whatever it was, I knew it wouldn't be a normal day. Not for us. Not in the world we—he??lived in. But the idea of something almost normal felt like a breath of fresh air. Even if it was fleeting.

I dressed for comfort, choosing something simple but still elegant enough for an outing with Alexander. The burgundy dress fit perfectly, cinching at the waist, and flaring out in a soft, flowing skirt. It felt like a compromise between casual and the unspoken expectation of being by his side. As I brushed through my hair and applied a light layer of makeup, I caught myself feeling... excited.

Despite everything that had happened between us, the horrors of the night before, there was an undeniable flutter in my chest at the thought of spending time with him.

The guilt gnawed at me, always present, a constant reminder that I should hate him, fear him. Alexander was my captor, my manipulator, yet that didn't change my mind. Something more. It twisted inside me, that wretched combination of desire and confusion. How could I feel any sense of warmth toward him after everything? But the truth was there, unshakable, as much as I wanted to deny it.

There was something about the way he spoke to me at night when the world around us felt quieter, more intimate. He'd reveal pieces of himself in those moments, pieces that made me want to know more, to understand him beyond the darkness. Today, the idea of simply being with him felt like a gift. I wanted more of those conversations, more of him .

With one final glance in the mirror, I smoothed the fabric of my dress and stepped out of the room, the soft sound of my footsteps echoing through the quiet house. The morning light filtered through the windows, and as I walked, I could hear Alexander's voice coming from his office. It was low, commanding, as he spoke to someone on the phone, the sound grounding me in the present.

I followed his voice, my heart quickening slightly with anticipation. When I reached his office, I hesitated for a brief second, listening to the steady rhythm of his words.

Taking a breath, I knocked lightly before stepping in, ready to meet whatever the day held for us. Alexander hung up the phone, his eyes sweeping over me with that intense, unwavering gaze as he stood from his desk. He slipped his phone into his pocket and strode toward me, the hint of a smile curling at the edges of his lips.

"You never fail to look anything less than gorgeous," he said, his voice rich and smooth, the compliment sinking into me with the weight of his presence. He stepped close, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me against him. His lips met mine in a slow kiss that left my skin tingling, and my breath catching. I could feel the strength of him, the control that never wavered. When he pulled back, I took in his appearance. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a sleek black suit adorned with dark, intricate patterns that seemed almost alive, weaving across the fabric like vines.

It suited him, every bit the ruler, every bit Diabolus .

The power he carried in his stride, in the way he moved, was unmistakable.

"This way," he said, taking my hand in his, the warmth of his skin familiar, grounding. Without another word, he led me out of his office and down the quiet hallway, the sound of our footsteps muted against the marble floor.

We reached the less formal dining room, the one reserved for times like this, when it was just the two of us. The table was already set with a light lunch, and everything was laid out perfectly, as always. Alexander pulled out a chair for me, his eyes lingering on mine as I sat. He took his place across from me, but just as I was about to start, Verity appeared, moving silently as she approached. She placed a glass of the usual fertility smoothie in front of me, along with the familiar small set of pills. Her soft smile was warm, almost maternal, as she gave a polite nod.

"Thank you, Verity," I said, taking the pills from her with a nod in return. I swallowed them down with the smoothie, which had become routine at this point. The taste was always smooth, and fruity, masking the layers of purpose within it.

Verity disappeared as quickly as she'd come, and I turned my attention back to the table, loading my plate with a modest portion of the light meal set before me. It felt almost normal. The ever-present reminder of what my role was still lingered in the background, but for now, I allowed myself to slip into this moment. A quiet meal. Just the two of us.

And for once, it didn't feel like I was drowning.

Alexander watched me carefully as I took a few bites of the meal, his eyes never leaving mine. There was always a quiet intensity between us, one that never fully dissipated, even in these more relaxed moments.

He sat back slightly, sipping from his glass before placing it back down, his gaze piercing as always. "What did you think of the ritual?" he asked, his voice soft yet commanding. There was no judgment in the question, just an expectation. He wanted the truth.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of my fork. The images from the night before flickered in my mind—the flames, the chanting, the screams. It was still raw, the horror of what I'd seen and, in some ways, participated in. I could lie, and soften the truth, but something told me that wouldn't do me any favors.

"It was unexpected," I admitted, meeting his gaze. "Terrifying, in a way. It felt like I was caught between something sacred and something deeply wrong. And—" I stopped for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "What we ate, what it represented... I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about it."

He nodded slowly, absorbing my words with that same quiet intensity. There was no flicker of surprise, no anger. He had expected this reaction. Of course, he had.

"I understand," he said, his voice low, but steady. "It is overwhelming. It is meant to be." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. "What you felt that conflict, is part of the transformation. You are not simply an observer here, Lolita. You are becoming part of something far greater, far darker, than what you've known. It requires more than just understanding—it requires acceptance."

His words hung heavy in the air, and he paused for a moment, letting them sink in before continuing.

"The Isle's way is not easy, nor is it meant to be, but it's where you belong now. Everything you experienced—the ceremony, the consumption—is part of claiming that belonging. To feel unsettled by it is normal. That will change in time."

"And what if it doesn't?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

His eyes darkened slightly, a shadow of something passing over his face. He leaned forward further, close enough now that I could feel the pull of his presence, his power.

"Then I will help you," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You will learn to embrace it, Lolita. You will accept it. That is inevitable."

His words, though not threatening, left no room for doubt. There was no escape from this path. Not from him. Not from the Isle. I had chosen, and now I had to live with the consequences of that choice.

The thought sent a ripple of unease through me, but at the same time, there was something about his certainty—about his certainty in me—that made me feel strangely secure, no matter how twisted it all was.

Alexander's gaze softened, but only slightly, as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

"I have never felt prouder to have a woman by my side," he said, his voice low and filled with something deeper, something that made my chest tighten. "You handled that in a way that proves you were always meant to be on Stygian, with our people. You belong here."

His words hung in the air, heavy with certainty. There was no hesitation in his tone, no doubt in his mind. A small part of me bristled. It was true—I had handled the ceremony, survived the madness of it—but his certainty that I was meant to be here gnawed at me. For a brief moment, the name Clarice hovered on the edge of my tongue. His second wife, the one no one spoke of openly, but whose presence lingered like a ghost in the shadows of the Isle. I knew she was still alive, somewhere here, but we had never spoken about her beyond the photograph.

I almost let the question slip, before catching myself.

This wasn't the time, not here, not within the estate walls where every word was under scrutiny. I would ask him when we were alone, off the ground. For now, I held the question back, burying it deep.

"I do feel like I'm supposed to be here," I replied honestly, my eyes meeting his. There was no point in lying to him, not now. "But I also can't forget how I ended up here. The circumstances." My voice faltered, and Anya's face flashed in my mind, the weight of her memory crashing into me.

"I think about Anya. What happened to her. How I didn't have a choice in coming to the Isle," I continued, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. "It's hard to reconcile those feelings. To feel like I belong when part of me still remembers that I was taken."

There was a silence that followed, heavy and uncomfortable, as Alexander's expression remained unreadable.

I didn't know what I expected him to say, or if he even would. But I couldn't hold it in any longer. No matter how much I had been pulled into his world, there was still that part of me that hadn't forgotten the life I had before.

"Anya," he said, his voice hardening slightly. "We're going to put that subject to rest once and for all today." His hand reached out, firm yet gentle, and he took mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"She fills spots in your mind that should be mine. I am your everything, there should be no one else inside that pretty head of yours."

The intensity in his gaze, the conviction in his voice—it left no room for argument.

I hesitated, feeling the weight of what he was saying, the possessiveness that seemed to fuel every word. "I'm not sure it works that way," I replied, my voice softer than I intended, as if part of me was already bending to his will.

His grin widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "It does. It will," he said confidently.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd fall in love with me? Part of you already is." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. "We'll get there with the rest, my Lolita."

My stomach flipped as I picked up the smoothie, taking a slow sip to ground myself. His Lolita . The words echoed in my mind, settling in a way that was both terrifying and undeniable. He was right part of me was already tethered to him, bound in ways I couldn't fully understand. Even if I were to run away from the Isle, Alexander would forever be a part of me.

We finished the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence, the conversation lingering between us, but neither of us needed to say more. The weight of what had been spoken was enough for now.

I took another sip of my smoothie, and the question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind since the night before bubbled to the surface, despite my best efforts to suppress it.

I set my glass down, the coldness of it grounding me for a moment.

"Last night…" I started, my voice faltering slightly, "was that the only time I've ever eaten… that?" The thought made my stomach twist, and I almost gagged, the memory still too vivid, too raw. I hadn't let myself dwell on it too much, afraid of where my mind would go if I did. But now, sitting across from him, I needed to know.

Alexander looked at me with a hint of amusement, as if my discomfort were mildly entertaining to him. "Let me show you something," he said, pushing his chair back and standing. He extended his hand toward me, a gesture that felt commanding, not a request. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then I took his hand, the warmth of his skin familiar against mine. His fingers threaded through mine, and the small act sent a shiver through me, a reminder of how entangled I was with this man.

Without a word, he led me through the house, his grip firm, as though I might pull away at any moment, though I knew I wouldn't. He took me into the kitchen, where everything was as pristine and well-ordered as usual. From there, we entered the massive pantry, a place I had grown familiar with early on. It was stocked with all my favorite treats—Dove chocolates, the flavored water I loved, even the rare strawberry macarons that had always been impossible to find outside of specialty bakeries.

He had to have these things specially delivered to the Isle, ensuring that my comforts were always met. The abundance was overwhelming, in a way that had unsettled me at first. It was yet another reminder of the lengths he went to for me. At the back of the pantry was a large steel door I had noticed but never cared enough to explore. I had been told it was a walk-in freezer, but I never had a reason to go inside.

Now, as we approached it, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Alexander paused, standing in front of the door as he punched in a code. "Your birthday," he said casually, glancing at me with that knowing smile. "It used to be, at least. Now it's the day I brought you home."

I stared at him, the words hanging in the air like a cruel reminder. The day he kidnapped me. There was no malice in his voice, only fact, but that didn't make it any easier to digest. The memory lingered like a dark cloud, one I tried to push away, but the truth of it remained. There was still a flicker of anger inside me, a resentment that smoldered quietly beneath the surface. How could I forget what he'd done? How he had torn me from my life, from everything I knew, without hesitation or mercy. Yet, I felt a strange sense of calm being near him. I wasn't even sure how long I had been with him anymore. Days had melted into weeks, maybe months.

Time had become a blur. It felt like forever. My old life, days spent working long shifts, juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet—seemed like a distant memory. That life had been hard, and exhausting, but at least it had been mine. Now, I lived in luxury, surrounded by the finest things, my every need attended to. Even with all of that, I wasn't free.

"Will I ever work again?" I asked quietly, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.

Alexander raised an eyebrow as he pushed the heavy door open, the cool air from the walk-in freezer brushing against my skin. "Never," he replied with a small grin, stepping inside and pulling me with him. The smile wasn't mocking, but it was clear that my question amused him. "You will have certain responsibilities for the Isle as my bride and Electi, their Diaboli , but think of that more as being on a committee."

He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with that familiar possessiveness.

"Your days, my beautiful deliciae ," he intoned, "is to be spent enjoying the privileges of this life, spending my money, submitting to me, indulging in endless pleasure. And, of course, deciding what you want your life to look like by my side."

His grin widened, that dangerous edge always lurking just beneath the surface. "And soon enough, you'll have our child to look after."

His words sent a ripple of something through me—anticipation, fear, or maybe both. The way he spoke, our future together were already decided, was both comforting and suffocating in equal measure. Part of me couldn't help but feel a dark sense of security in the future he laid out. The thought of a child, which should have terrified me, was now inevitable. Just as everything with Alexander had become.

We stepped deeper into the freezer, the icy air wrapping around. The cold made the hairs on my arms stand on end, but it wasn't just the temperature that made me shiver. The entire room was meticulously organized, each shelf lined with precision. The front of the freezer was stocked with fresh produce—vibrant vegetables and fruits, all artfully arranged, the picture of normalcy.

"Take a look," Alexander encouraged, his voice calm, almost gentle.

That was a warning sign if there ever was one. I moved further in, my eyes drifting from the produce toward the back of the freezer, where the real stock was stored. There were premium cuts of wagyu beef, perfectly sealed, and top-shelf pork that would rival anything served in a five-star restaurant. And then my gaze landed on something else. Between the familiar cuts, I saw packages labeled in a way that made my stomach twist violently.

FEM. ADOLESCENT, 16, RIGHT THIGH.

MASC. 32, RIB CUT.

The words were stark, clinical, written in clean, precise handwriting as if the horror of what was inside these vacuum-sealed packages was nothing unusual.

But it wasn't normal.

It couldn't be.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in more of the labels:

MASC. 24, SHOULDER.

FEM. 19, CHEST.

The realization crashed over me in a sickening wave. They were human. Preserved with clinical, almost obsessive care, labeled as though they were no different from the beef and pork resting on the shelves beside them. I couldn't breathe. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I took a step back, my mind spinning, trying to process this new facet of Alexander's world.

I looked back at him, searching his face for some explanation, some shred of humanity, but he stood there, watching me, completely composed. He was waiting for my reaction, for me to come to terms with the monstrous reality that he had just laid bare.

"I…I don't even know what to say."

"Hawthorne Industries," Alexander began, his voice steady as he led me away from the freezer. "That's where the alias comes from by the way. It's a brand sold off the Isle, and you've even seen it before. The resort stocks it regularly. But of course, it's not labeled as what it truly is."

I followed him, my legs heavy beneath me as my mind tried to wrap around what he was saying. I had seen that brand at the resort, and even enjoyed meals there, but I never thought twice about where the food had come from. It all seemed so normal.

"This meat," he continued, his hand still holding mine firmly, "is from tourists who broke their agreements while visiting the Isle. Some are members of Impío who have failed in their oaths. But one thing remains constant—it's always fresh."

I wanted to ask more, but my throat was tight, the words stuck behind the knot of revulsion that was growing within me. The image of those vacuum-sealed packages, labeled with human body parts, was seared into my mind. As we moved out of the pantry and further from the cold, sterile reality of the freezer, he continued to explain, his voice almost soothing in its calmness.

"Those who are detained and not released... well, they're taken to Hawthorne Harvests. It's part of the system we've put in place. Those who break our rules or learn too much are processed, ensuring there's no evidence left behind. Every piece is used, nothing goes to waste."

Hawthorne Harvests. It sounded like a farm, something innocent, even wholesome—but the grim reality of it was far from that.

He sensed my discomfort, but he didn't stop. "For those tourists who go missing, we have official explanations—cover stories, you could say. Some ‘leave early' or ‘choose to relocate,' cutting ties with their former lives. Others... well, accidents happen. Drownings in the sea, mishaps on the trails. The Isle ensures every story fits perfectly, so nothing draws undue attention."

I was silent, the enormity of it all spiraling through my mind. They had a system, a methodical way of making people disappear without a trace. It wasn't about power or control—it was about total dominion over life and death. Every piece of the puzzle was in place, ensuring that no one would question those who vanished. As we stepped into the warmth of the house, the freezer door sealing behind us, I realized just how deeply I had been pulled into this world.

"It's simple," he continued, his tone calm but filled with that eerie sense of conviction. "We aren't wasteful on the Isle. Those people may have been useless alive, but in death... well, that's our religion's specialty. Nothing goes to waste, and every mistake is used to maintain the balance here." His eyes locked on mine, unblinking. "In death, they finally serve a purpose."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in, but I couldn't find the strength to argue. There was no room for that in this world he had pulled me into. This was his reality, and I had become a part of it.

He led me outside, and the sun hit my skin, warm and bright, in contrast to the chill that still lingered inside me. I blinked at the sight in front of us—a sleek, black Ferrari parked in the driveway. Its glossy surface shimmered under the light, reflecting the estate behind us.

The car was low to the ground with sharp, aggressive lines, looking as dangerous as the man about to drive it. The interior, rich with dark red leather, gave it a bold, predatory edge. I watched as Alexander walked over to the passenger side, my surprise growing when he reached for the door handle.

"You're driving?" I asked, genuinely curious. He rarely drove himself—there was always a driver.

He chuckled, his grin widening as he opened the door for me, holding it with that same gentlemanly grace he always seemed to carry. "I figured today was different," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "Besides, I don't trust anyone else to drive you. Not today."

I smiled faintly as I slipped into the seat, the leather soft and luxurious beneath me. The door closed with a solid thud, and for a brief moment, I found comfort in the normalcy of the gesture. I wasn't naive enough to think that anything about this day was truly normal .

Alexander rounded the car and slid into the driver's seat. With a flick of his wrist, the engine roared to life, filling the air with a deep, guttural growl that matched the controlled intensity I always felt from him. It was powerful and precise, just like everything else in his life.

He glanced at me, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "See? You're learning, my Lolita."

And with that, we pulled out of the estate, the car cutting through the bright day as the tension of the morning lingered in the back of my mind.

The day unfolded in a way that felt like a dream—one that I hadn't anticipated. After leaving the estate, Alexander took me on a different tour of the Isle, one that stretched far beyond the polished, picturesque parts I had grown accustomed to. This time, he led me into the parts of the Isle that remained hidden from most eyes, showing me places I hadn't even known existed.

He drove us through winding roads, past lush meadows and farmland, the beauty of the scenery striking in its simplicity. The agricultural expanse was vast, with cattle grazing lazily in the fields and orchards heavy with fruit. The rows of trees stretched on endlessly, their branches dipping low under the weight of ripe apples and pears. It was peaceful—on the surface, at least. Yet, I knew the darker side of it now and what was hidden behind the serene facade of Hawthorne Harvests.

Thankfully, Alexander didn't make me get out and confront that reality. As we passed through the quiet, hidden roads, his hand would find mine, his fingers intertwining with mine or brushing against my thigh. Every touch felt intentional, his casual affection grounding me in the strange, surreal day.

"You've never seen this part of the Isle, have you?" he asked, glancing over at me with a knowing smile as we drove past another vast meadow.

I shook my head, my eyes lingering on the landscape outside. "No. I didn't even know this was here."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. "I thought so. There's more to Stygian Isle than just the town and the rituals. Much more." His hand drifted to the back of my neck, his fingers gently massaging my skin as he drove.

"I wanted you to see this part of our world. Beyond the ceremonies."

Something was comforting in the way he spoke; in the way he showed me these hidden corners of the Isle. It felt ... intimate, as though he was letting me into parts of himself along with the island. Despite everything I knew about him and the mysterious world he ruled, I couldn't deny the connection building between us.

At one point, we stopped at a high ridge overlooking the massive lake that stretched for miles across the Isle. The water shimmered under the midday sun, its surface as still as glass. It reminded me just how large the lake was, sprawling, like an inland sea.

The view was breathtaking, the hills and forests of the Isle reflected in the water's mirror-like surface. Alexander parked the car and stepped out, coming around to open my door for me. He extended his hand, and I took it, stepping out into the cool breeze. He pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist as we stood at the edge of the overlook.

"This is one of my favorite places on the Isle," he said softly, his lips brushing against my temple as he spoke. "There's something calming about it, isn't there? So much beneath the surface, but all you see is this perfect reflection."

I turned toward him, feeling the heat of his body against mine, the warmth of his breath on my skin. Before I could respond, he tilted my chin up and pressed his lips against mine in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't hurried or demanding, but there was an intensity behind it, a quiet promise.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked with mine, filled with that dark intensity I had grown so familiar with. "You belong here, Lolita. You've always belonged here, with me."

I couldn't help but lean on him. I was beginning to understand what he meant, how this place—and this man—had slowly become my reality.

He held me close, his arm wrapped securely around me as we stood together, watching the serene view of the lake.

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the water, the moment oddly peaceful in its simplicity. As his hand ran slowly up and down my back, I became acutely aware of the space between us. He hadn't been inside me since early this morning—late the night before—and I wanted him. As sore as I was, and as chaotic as my mind had been all day, in this moment of calm, I found myself craving him. Needing him.

I turned my head, glancing up at him, searching his face. He looked down at me, and his grin widened, that familiar knowing glint in his eyes. "Don't look at me like that," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "I've got something planned for later, and it's taking everything I have to hold myself back right now."

My breath caught as he reached out, fluffing my hair with his free hand before leaning in to kiss me lightly, just a brief brush of his lips against mine. It was enough to make my pulse quicken.

"Talk to me now," he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes darkening with amusement. "Help me stay distracted."

I laughed, shaking my head at his playful tone. "Alright, fine. Tell me more about you," I said, settling against him, enjoying the warmth of his body, even as my own thoughts strayed back to the undercurrent of desire that seemed to pulse between us.

His smile softened, and for a moment, the intensity that always surrounded him seemed to fade. "What do you want to know, my Lolita?" he asked, his voice warm but edged with that ever-present darkness.

"Anything," I replied. "You always know everything about me. I want to know more about you."

He looked thoughtful for a second before he began to speak, and as his words flowed, I found myself more drawn into his world than ever before,

He held me close, his fingers tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my back as he considered what to share. "You want to know more about me?" he mused; his voice low, thoughtful. "Well, let me start with the people who've always been there."

I looked up at him, curious, as he continued.

"Phoenix and Osiris," he said with a faint smile. "They're like brothers to me, always have been. Osiris is... well, he's fire. Impulsive, wild, acts first and thinks later. But I trust him more than anyone. Phoenix is the opposite—cold, calculating. He measures every move before making it. Together, they keep me balanced."

I tried to picture the dynamic between the three of them. "That sounds like a lot to manage."

He chuckled softly. "It can be, but it works. And then there's Bishop. My cousin. He's more like another brother, really. Wild and unhinged, a true bachelor on and off the Isle. Bishop does what he wants when he wants. No one can really control him, but he's loyal to me and to the Isle."

His mention of Bishop surprised me. From the way Alexander described him, it was clear that their bond ran deep. I always remembered him as the man who had joined Alex at the resort.

"And, of course, there's Emilio," Alexander added, his voice softening slightly. "My real brother. You've met him already. He's been by my side through everything. Always will be."

The way he spoke of Emilio held a deep sense of respect, but there was also a weight to it—like he carried the responsibility of leading not just the Isle but his brother, too.

"I wasn't always here on the Isle, though," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I went to college—top-tier. Graduated early, actually."

I blinked, surprised by the revelation. "You? College?" The idea of Alexander, the ruler of Stygian Isle, sitting in a classroom was almost unimaginable.

He laughed, clearly amused by my reaction. "Yes, college. The Isle may have chosen me early, but I still needed the skills and knowledge to lead it properly. I've been preparing for this role since I was eight."

" Eight ?" I questioned, shocked. "That's so young to carry that kind of responsibility."

He nodded, the amusement fading slightly. "The Isle chose me the moment I was conceived. It wasn't a question of if, only when. By the time I was eight, everyone knew I was meant to be Diabolus , and from that point on, every decision I made was to prepare for this."

I couldn't imagine growing up with that kind of pressure, but there was no hesitation in his voice. He accepted it like it was always his destiny. In a way, I guess it was. He had been molded by the Isle, shaped into the ruler he was now.

"Was it hard?" I asked softly, unable to help the question. "Growing up like that?"

He didn't answer right away, his eyes distant for a moment. "It wasn't easy, but I never had a choice. This is who I am, who I was always meant to be."

There was a quiet pride in his voice, but I could hear the weight of the responsibility he carried, even if he wouldn't admit it outright. Shifting slightly, I decided to ask something more personal. "What about your mother? You mentioned she taught you how to cook. Are you close?"

His expression softened instantly, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I adore my mother," he said, his voice full of warmth. "I wouldn't be half the man I am without her—and my father, of course. They're my foundation. She taught me more than just how to cook. He showed me strength and resilience. She showed me how to lead without losing myself. Everything I am, I owe to them."

I was surprised by the depth of emotion in his voice. It wasn't the first time I had wondered about her, the woman who had raised three children of the Isle. "Your mother sounds incredible," I said softly, touched by the way he spoke about her.

"She is," he replied, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "She's part of why I'm able to lead the Isle—and you—the way I do. I wouldn't be where I am without her."

I looked out across the view, combing through everything he'd just revealed.

I knew I hadn't even scratched the surface when it came to the layers of this man. His words lingered, heavy and final, settling deep into my bones. As he held me closer, the truth became clearer with each passing moment.

Beneath the layers of power and darkness, there was something deeper—a man shaped by an unwavering love for his family, by loyalty that ran through his veins, and by a destiny he had never been given the chance to defy. And now, I was bound to that same fate. Bound to him.

Whether I was ready or not, I had been pulled into his world—a world where love was as much about possession as it was about devotion. A world where there was no escape, only submission to the life we were destined to build together. I wasn't just standing on the edge anymore. I was already so deep in; I wasn't sure if I could ever find my way back, or why I should even bother.