06: A Bloody Circus

ALEXA

My fingers went numb. The phone slipped from my hands and hit the floor of the limo with a dull thud.

Vincent's voice still echoed in my skull like a ghost haunting my mind.

'Miss me?'

No. No. This couldn't be real.

He was dead. I'd celebrated my freedom.

Killian reached down, picked up the phone, and ended the call as if it was nothing more than a spam text. Then he slipped it into his pocket, calm as ever.

"Breathe, Tesora."

I slapped his hand away when he reached out to touch me. "Don't call me that!"

He tilted his head. "You look pale. Relax."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I hissed. "You knew that Vincent was alive this whole time. You let me think he was dead—"

"Because that's what I wanted," Killian said. "Besides, you were safer not knowing."

"Safer?" I laughed, bitterly. "You're the one who dragged me into this mess with contracts and wedding vows! Tell me, how is that safer?"

His jaw flexed, but he didn't speak. Not immediately.

"Because if you'd known he was alive, you would've gone looking for him. And if you'd found him, Alexa..." He paused, then he leaned in close enough that his minty breath brushed my lips. "You would be playing right into his hands."

I stared at him, my chest heaving. "And now what? You think chaining me to your side will stop me?"

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "No, Tesora. But it delays the inevitable. And sometimes, a delay is all I need."

The limo slowed.

Outside, several cameras flashed, paparazzi and journalists flocking around like vultures. They were all unknowingly witnesses to this beautiful, bloody circus.

"Smile for the cameras," he said softly. "Your fans are watching."

I didn't smile. I just stared at my reflection in the tinted glass. And I realized that I might've just blindly sold both my happiness and freedom. Was I doomed to be miserable? Lord, I hope not.

We stepped out when we arrived at the estate. Killian’s guards had to sneak me in so that I could get changed into a different dress.

By the time I stepped out, the estate was lit like a palace on fire. There were brilliant chandeliers, violinists and a thousand fake congratulations. I didn't hear any of it.

I stood beside Killian with a champagne in my hand, listening to some politician's wife compliment my dress as if it wasn't a glorified cage.

Sofia was across the room, dressed in something black and elegant, glaring at anyone who came within two feet of her. She looked fierce and furious but alive. For now. And I intended to make sure she stayed that way.

Killian leaned down. "Smile, Tesora. You're making people nervous."

"Good," I whispered back. "Let them be nervous. They're practically stepping on a landmine."

He chuckled, then he straightened as a silver-haired man approached us with a cane and a knowing smirk.

"Mr Cross," the man said, his voice laced with something resembling malice. "Congratulations on the acquisition."

Acquisition.

Killian didn't correct him.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I turned to the old man, offering my hand with a smile that could cut glass. "Would you like to see the receipt?"

One of his eyes twitched, and Killian smirked.

The man walked away a little faster than he came.

After what felt like an eternity, the formality was over, and I was settled in the bedroom, my thoughts swelling in the silence.

Killian was in the hallway, talking in a low voice on the phone. I couldn't make out the words, but I heard Vincent's name.

Vincent wasn't just alive.

He was a part of this mess.

And I needed answers. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

So I padded across the room and found a safe in Killian's closet while he was still distracted.

I inputted the code: Tesora. And it freaking worked. I scoffed in disbelief, swinging it open.

I narrowed my eyes at the sight of the stack of files and photos. There were USB drives and a gun as well.

I almost didn't notice the white envelope in the safe. And when I did, I picked it up and saw the words:

FOR SERAPHINA. DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU REMEMBER.

I blinked, surprised.

Seraphina? Was that my name?

Remember what?

My fingers curled around it, but the sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears, and I quickly hid the letter under my sweater.

"Don't bother hiding it," Killian murmured as he stepped into my line of vision.

"It's addressed to me, why shouldn't I take it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You're Alexa, not Seraphina."

He moved over to me and held out a hand. I glared at him, annoyance brewing inside of me as I handed the letter over to him and turned away.

"When you're ready to remember, you can open it. But know this, Tesora, once you do, there's no going back."

Rolling my eyes, I walked away from him and returned to the room.

...

A few hours later,

I sat on the edge of the massive bed in my white silk nightgown, my hands clenched in my lap. My chest felt tight, and my lungs were strained as if they had forgotten how to breathe. The sound of running water from the bathroom echoed through the room. It should've been nothing but mundane.

But all I could hear was him.

Vincent.

I could still remember the way he used barge into the bathroom while I took my bath and take me against my will...

My stomach twisted.

I wasn't with Vincent. I knew that. He was alive, but not here. Not now.

But fear didn't care about timelines.

The shower turned off.

And I froze.

The door opened, steam curling into the room. Killian.

His dark hair was wet, curling slightly at the ends. I gulped as a single bead of water slid down his throat. A white towel hung low on his hips, riding low enough to expose the v lines of his abdomen.

Water glistened across his chest, trailing down the ridges of muscle that shouldn't have made my mouth go dry. But they did.

And for a moment, I saw Vincent.

So I flinched. Hard.

His movements halted.

His glacial blue eyes, which were sharp and calculating, narrowed at me.

But there was something else in his eyes too. Something colder.

Suspicion.

"You're afraid of me?" He said in a low voice.

"No."

Yes.

He studied me as if I'd become a puzzle that didn't fit the picture he'd drawn of me.

"Interesting. You flinch like someone waiting for a slap, not a kiss. That's not the reaction I'd expect from a woman who was supposedly madly in love with her husband."

I looked away, gripping the silk material of the bedsheet so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"People don't always need a reason to flinch," I said quietly. "Sometimes they've just...been trained to."

Silence settled between us for a moment.

"What did he do to you?" He finally asked.

My throat tightened. I couldn't say it. I wouldn't say it.

He stood in front of me now, towering above me. He smelled so good, and I hated that I noticed that.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with a different kind of emotion now. It wasn't suspicion or confusion. It was curiosity.

"Are you afraid I'm going to touch you tonight?" he asked.

His voice was gentle, but the question itself weighed on me like a stone.

I met his gaze, trying to pretend like I was unbothered. "Are you?"

He didn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, he reached out and let the back of his fingers graze my cheek lightly.

My breath caught in my throat.

His hand trailed down to my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth as though he was memorizing it.

"You're shaking," he murmured, amused.

"I'm not," I lied again, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer. I could feel the warmth of his bare chest now and his breath against my skin. At this point, he was close enough to kiss me. My heart pounded faster as his gaze dipped over to my lips.