Luna's POV
Days passed since the argument in the garden, and to say things had changed between Alexander and me would be an understatement. He had withdrawn behind his cold mask, and any warmth or vulnerability I thought I had glimpsed in him was gone.
He no longer made an effort to engage in casual conversation, no longer lingered in the piano room to hear me play, or asked questions about my past. He had made it clear—painfully, brutally clear—that I was nothing more than a temporary part of his world.
And he had started treating me like it.
Alexander Cole had reduced me to a role: a toy for his pleasure, a possession he could summon at will. The boundaries that had once felt blurred between us were now sharp and undeniable. He didn't hesitate to remind me of the terms of our arrangement, and every interaction was a reminder of my place.
One night, I stood in front of the mirror in the lavish room that had become my gilded cage. My reflection stared back at me, wearing the silk dress Helen had delivered earlier—a dress Alexander had specifically requested I wear for him that evening. It was stunning, of course, but the sight of myself in it felt hollow, like I was playing a part in someone else's story.
I tried to steel myself, pushing down the emotions that churned inside me. I had made this choice, I reminded myself. I had agreed to this life, no matter how degrading or soul-crushing it felt now.
There was a knock at the door.
Helen peeked in, her face unreadable. "Mr. Cole is waiting for you in the study," she said.
I nodded, taking one last glance at my reflection before following her down the dimly lit hallway.
The study was bathed in warm light, the fire crackling softly in the massive stone hearth. Alexander sat in one of the leather armchairs, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He was nursing a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the light as he swirled it idly.
When I entered, his gaze flickered to me, dark and assessing. He didn't rise, didn't say anything at first. He simply gestured for me to come closer.
I stepped into the room, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. My heart raced, though I did my best to keep my expression neutral.
"You're late," he said, his tone low and even.
"I didn't realize there was a set time," I replied quietly, my hands clasped in front of me.
"There's always a set time, Luna," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. "You just have to anticipate it."
The cryptic remark hung in the air as he motioned for me to sit on the sofa opposite him. I obeyed, sinking into the plush cushions as he took another sip of his drink.
For a long moment, he said nothing, simply studying me. The silence stretched, making the tension in the room almost unbearable.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked finally, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"To entertain you, I assume," I replied, my tone sharper than I intended.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Entertain me," he repeated, as though tasting the words. "Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it."
He set his glass down on the side table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I've been generous with you, Luna. More generous than I should be. And yet you seem to think you're entitled to something more from me."
"I don't think that," I protested, though my voice wavered.
"Don't you?" he challenged, his gaze pinning me in place. "You've been pushing, testing boundaries that were never meant to be crossed. Let me remind you of something: you're here because I allow it. Because I want you here. But you are not indispensable."
The words hit me like a slap, but I refused to let him see the sting. Instead, I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. "I'm well aware of what I am to you, Alexander."
"Good," he said coldly, standing and crossing the room toward me. "Then you'll understand what I expect from you."
I swallowed hard as he stopped in front of me, towering over me with an intensity that made my pulse race. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch was soft, almost gentle, but his eyes told a different story.
"No questions, no expectations," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "You're mine for as long as I decide you're useful. Nothing more."
The words were a dagger to my chest, but I held his gaze, refusing to crumble under the weight of his cruelty.
"I understand," I said softly, though my voice trembled.
He studied me for a moment longer before stepping back, his cold mask firmly in place. "Good. Then we won't have any more misunderstandings."
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop the tears that slipped silently down my cheeks. Alexander's words replayed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.
I had thought I could handle this. I had thought I could endure whatever he threw at me. But as the days stretched on and his treatment of me grew colder, I began to wonder if I had made a mistake.
I didn't hate him—I couldn't, no matter how cruel he was. But I hated what he was turning me into. A shadow of the person I used to be.
And the worst part? A small, foolish part of me still hoped that somewhere beneath his cold exterior, Alexander Cole cared about me.