Luna's POV
I spent the next few days replaying my confrontation with Alexander in my mind, dissecting every word, every glance, every painful moment. Each time, the same emotions rose to the surface: anger, humiliation, and, worst of all, longing.
Why did I care so much? Why did his words cut me so deeply when I had already accepted the cold truth of our arrangement?
I didn't have an answer, and it was driving me mad.
Alexander, true to form, had retreated into his impenetrable shell. He barely acknowledged me when we crossed paths, his cold indifference a stark contrast to the intensity of our last encounter. Part of me wished he would yell, argue—anything other than this suffocating silence.
But the other part of me—the part that still foolishly hoped for something more—was glad for the reprieve.
On the third night, Helen came to my room with a familiar message.
"Mr. Cole has requested your presence in the study," she said, her tone carefully neutral.
I sighed, the weight of exhaustion settling over me. "Did he say why?"
"No, miss," she replied.
I nodded, resigning myself to yet another uncomfortable encounter. "Thank you, Helen. I'll go."
When I entered the study, Alexander was standing by the window, his back to me. The firelight cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the sharp lines of his frame. He didn't turn as I closed the door behind me.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.
He remained silent for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost contemplative. "Do you regret it, Luna? Coming here?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
He turned then, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. "Do you regret your choice?"
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Did I regret it? I hated the way he treated me, the way he dismissed me as if I were nothing. But I also couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him, the maddening complexity of his presence in my life.
"I don't know," I admitted finally.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might drop the subject. But then he stepped closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You should," he said coldly. "You should regret every moment you've spent here."
His words stung, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Why are you doing this, Alexander? Why do you push me away every chance you get?"
His expression hardened, and I saw the walls go up again, shutting me out completely. "Because this isn't supposed to mean anything," he said sharply. "You're here to serve a purpose, Luna. That's all."
I felt the familiar ache in my chest, but this time, anger flared alongside it. "Do you even hear yourself? You act like you don't care, but I see it, Alexander. I see the cracks in your armor."
"Then you're mistaken," he said, his voice icy. "There are no cracks, Luna. Not for you. Not for anyone."
The finality in his tone was like a punch to the gut. I blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had cut me.
"If that's how you feel," I said quietly, "then why bother keeping me here? Why not let me go?"
His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he might actually answer me. But instead, he turned away, his back to me once more.
"You know why," he said simply, his voice so low I almost didn't hear it.
I stared at him, frustration and heartbreak swirling inside me. "No, Alexander. I don't know. And I don't think you do either."
I didn't wait for his response. I turned and walked out of the study, my heart pounding in my chest.
Alexander's POV
I stood by the window, staring out into the darkness long after Luna had gone. Her words echoed in my mind, each one hitting harder than the last.
You act like you don't care, but I see it… I don't think you know why either.
She was wrong. I knew exactly why I kept her here, why I couldn't let her go.
Because she was the only thing in my carefully constructed world that felt real.
But I couldn't tell her that. I couldn't let her get closer, no matter how much I wanted to.
Wanting her was a weakness I couldn't afford.
And yet, as I stood there, I couldn't shake the image of her eyes—fierce, defiant, and filled with a pain I had caused.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I didn't know what I was doing anymore.