Back at the penthouse, the silence between Alex and Isabella was louder than ever. After the tension-filled dinner with his family, Alex withdrew into himself, his distance palpable. He barely spoke, only issuing commands or work-related updates. His eyes, once full of intensity—whether in anger or something more—were now vacant when they looked at her, as though she had become invisible.
For the first time since they married, Alex no longer demanded her time, her attention, or her obedience. On any other day, Isabella would have welcomed this newfound freedom. She would have relished in the absence of his control, in the relief of not constantly being on edge, anticipating his next move. But something had shifted inside her, and what should have been a blessing now felt like a strange, gnawing ache.
Each night, as she lay in their shared bed, her eyes would drift toward the door, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. But they never came. Alex had taken to sleeping in his study, or perhaps not sleeping at all. Sometimes, she would hear the faint clinking of glasses and the low hum of his voice on phone calls that went well into the night. He was in his own world now, one where she no longer seemed to belong.
Isabella tossed and turned, the sheets cold beside her. She had to remind herself that this was a good thing—Alex's indifference meant she no longer had to play the role of the submissive wife. She was free to live without the constant fear of his anger or his possessive control. But why, then, did she feel this unfamiliar pang of longing every time she thought of him?
Focus, she would tell herself each time these feelings crept up on her. Stick to the plan. Don't let emotions cloud your judgment.
She was living in Sophie's place, in a throne that was never meant for her. This marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement, a contract on paper to serve Alex's purpose. It was never about love or partnership, and it never would be. She had always known that, hadn't she?
Yet, each night, as she stared up at the ceiling, her mind wandered to Alex. She thought of the moments in Brazil when she had seen a glimpse of something deeper within him—a vulnerability, perhaps. She had seen the anger in his eyes, the way he had unleashed his rage on her family, not just for his own pride but because they had hurt her. He had sought revenge, and for a brief moment, she had felt… protected. Safe, even.
Now, she wondered if that version of Alex had disappeared for good.
Isabella clenched her fists under the covers, willing herself to stop thinking this way. This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. He doesn't care about you. He never will. You're just a placeholder.
She had to keep reminding herself of this. Alex didn't love her, and he never would. She was nothing more than a convenience, a pawn in his larger game of power and dominance. He had chosen her to fulfill a role, and once that role was no longer useful, she would be discarded.
The logical part of her knew this. But late at night, when the silence between them felt suffocating, the logical part was drowned out by something she couldn't explain. Something that whispered, What if?
She caught herself imagining what it would be like if Alex did care for her. What if this cold distance was just another one of his defenses, his way of shielding himself from something he couldn't control? What if there was a part of him, buried deep beneath the layers of ice, that felt something for her—something more than the transactional nature of their marriage?
Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, frustrated with herself. Stop it, she warned herself. This is dangerous. You know better than to fall for him. He's not capable of love, not the way you need him to be. And even if he were, you're not the woman he wants.
The truth stung, but it was one she had to accept. Alex was married to her on paper, but his heart—if he even had one—wasn't hers. He was still bound to his past, to his family's expectations, to Sophie, who had been groomed for the role of his wife long before Isabella ever entered the picture.
And yet, despite knowing all this, Isabella couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing something. Something important. As the days turned into weeks, the emptiness between them grew, and with it, her sense of unease. She told herself she was better off this way, that Alex's distance was a gift. But the truth was, she missed him. She missed his presence, his intensity, even the way he challenged her.
But most of all, she missed the way, in Brazil, she had felt like he was fighting for her. Now, he barely noticed she was there.
And as much as she tried to remind herself that this marriage was a farce, that she was only borrowing Sophie's throne for a brief moment in time, Isabella couldn't help but wonder… if she had gotten too comfortable on that throne.
Because the truth, the one she refused to fully acknowledge, was that she didn't want to give it up.