The pitch-black room was suffocating. Alexander lay in the middle of his enormous bed, staring up at the equally dark ceiling, his mind restless. He should have been at peace—this was his sanctuary, his fortress—but tonight, something gnawed at him, keeping him from sleep. His jaw clenched as he tossed to one side, then the other, frustration mounting.
He sat up abruptly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as he tried to make sense of the unease twisting in his chest. What is wrong with me? He thought angrily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The black marble floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he stood, his towering frame casting a shadow in the dim light from his bedside clock.
It was just past two in the morning. The rain had stopped, leaving only the faint sound of dripping water from the eaves outside. The world seemed still, yet Alexander's mind was anything but. A name whispered through his thoughts, unbidden but insistent: Anna.
He cursed under his breath and left his room, the silent corridors of his mansion feeling both familiar and foreign. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, the polished floors reflecting the dim glow of the few lights left on at night. His jaw tightened as he approached her room. What was it about her that unsettled him so deeply?
When he opened the door, the soft click of the latch was almost deafening in the quiet. The room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn tight. His sharp eyes immediately sought out the bed, only to find it empty.
Alexander froze, his heart skipping a beat. The sheets were untouched, the pillows still perfectly arranged. A cold wave of panic surged through him, unexpected and unwelcome. His hands clenched into fists as his mind spiraled. She ran. She's gone.
But then he heard it—a faint sound, like a ragged breath. His head snapped toward the corner of the room, where a small figure huddled on the floor.
There she was, curled up tightly, her arms wrapped around herself as she shivered uncontrollably. The thin blanket she had dragged from the bed was draped over her shoulders, but it did little to shield her from the biting cold. Her face was half-hidden, her knees pulled up to her chest as if trying to make herself as small as possible.
Alexander stared, his usually unreadable expression faltering. For the first time in years, he was speechless. The sight before him did something he couldn't quite describe—it struck a nerve he hadn't known he had.
She looked so fragile, so utterly defeated, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Was this how she had lived her life? Sleeping in corners, too afraid to claim even a small piece of comfort for herself? The thought made something snap inside him, a deep, simmering anger that wasn't directed at her but at the world that had allowed this to happen to her.
He moved toward her slowly, his usually heavy footsteps unnaturally quiet. Kneeling in front of her, he hesitated for a moment before reaching out. His hand hovered over her trembling shoulder, unsure of how to proceed.
"Anna," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the room before settling on him. Her lips parted in surprise, but no words came out.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.
She blinked at him, her breaths shallow. "I… I didn't want to mess up the bed," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "It's too clean. Too nice. I didn't want to ruin it."
Alexander's chest tightened. Her words were like a dagger, cutting through the armor he had built around himself. He couldn't understand how someone could think so little of themselves.
"You're shivering," he said gruffly, more to distract himself than anything else.
Before she could protest, he stood and walked over to the bed, grabbing the thick duvet. Returning to her side, he wrapped it around her carefully, his hands lingering for a moment as if to ensure she was warm enough.
"You don't belong on the floor," he said firmly, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. "You belong in that bed."
She shook her head quickly, panic flashing across her face. "No, Mr. Voss, I'm fine here. I don't want to—"
"Anna," he interrupted, his voice like steel. "Get in the bed."
Her lips trembled, but she nodded reluctantly, allowing him to help her up. She winced as her feet, still tender from her earlier injuries, touched the floor. Without a word, Alexander scooped her up again, carrying her to the bed as if she weighed nothing.
As he set her down gently, he noticed the way she avoided his gaze, her hands clutching the duvet as if it were a lifeline.
"Do you always do this?" he asked after a moment, his tone quieter now.
"Do what?" she whispered, finally looking up at him.
"Diminish yourself. Act as if you don't deserve basic comfort."
She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not… I'm not used to this," she admitted. "I've never had a bed like this before. Or a room like this. I didn't want to… to overstep."
Alexander stared at her, his mind reeling. He didn't know how to respond to that, didn't know how to tell her that she could have the world if she asked for it. Instead, he stood abruptly, his towering presence filling the room.
"Get some rest," he said curtly, turning toward the door.
But just as he reached it, he paused, his hand resting on the handle. Without looking back, he added, "You deserve more than you think, Anna. Remember that."
With that, he left, closing the door behind him.
Anna sat in stunned silence, her heart racing. She pulled the duvet tighter around herself, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold she had felt only moments ago.
For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel entirely alone.