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Chapter_62
Alexander raised his glass, lifting it gracefully to his lips. He took a delicate sip, savoring the burn of the liquor. Oliver, lost in thought, was startled from his reverie when he suddenly spoke. “Alexander, is this really about Getty?” His voice held a quiet curiosity, tempered with hesitation. It was clear Oliver had seen Getty’s post on social media but had remained silent, choosing not to engage.
Alexander’s eyes flicked toward him, his expression unreadable. “You’re overstepping. You should be more concerned about keeping your sister in line,” he retorted, effortlessly deflecting the question. But to Oliver, that response was an implicit admission. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he contemplated the nature of love. Some people don’t have to be extraordinary. They just need to find someone who adores them completely.
Alexander’s gaze never wavered as he gently caressed the stem of his glass, offering no verbal response to Oliver’s insight. The air between them felt heavier, charged with the tension of unspoken things.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of her living room, Quinn lay sprawled across the couch, her consciousness caught between the fragile space of sleep and wakefulness. Haunting images from the news and vicious online comments swirled through her dreams. In one, Abigail—struggling under the weight of cyberbullying—leaped from the edge of a skyscraper. As Abigail fell, Quinn’s heart plummeted with her.
Suddenly, she woke with a jolt, staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft murmur of the television filled the silence, accompanied by the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. Amber Bay was no stranger to such wet weather. The sound was almost comforting, but the unease gnawing at her couldn’t be shaken.
Then, the distinct click of the front door’s keypad lock snapped her from her thoughts. She sat upright, her gaze locking onto the door as it creaked open. Alexander’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, rain droplets glistening on his shoulders. He stepped inside, pausing when his eyes met Quinn’s. The cold chill from outside seemed to follow him, filling the space.
He glanced at his watch: 2:30 AM. “You haven’t gone to bed?” he asked, then instantly regretted the question. Hadn’t he known her well enough by now? When had he ever returned home to find Quinn asleep?
Quinn, however, didn’t rise to take his coat this time. A minor, almost imperceptible detail, but it did not go unnoticed by him. The absence of that small gesture was enough to dampen his mood. He hung his coat up himself and walked toward her, sitting beside her on the couch.
“Didn’t I tell you not to wait up for me?” His voice was low, but the words held a bite. His fingers brushed against her cheek, the coldness of his touch seeping through her skin.
Her eyes met his, steady but searching. She couldn’t help but wonder if, to him, she was still just a child. Was it futile for him to be angry at her? He was never angry with her in the same way he was with others. Was it because he didn’t see her as a threat?
“Why?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
His fingers, which had been tracing her face, stilled. He studied her with an intensity that felt almost suffocating, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Are you scolding me?” His tone was light, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.
Quinn pressed her lips together, holding back the words that felt too bold to speak. She had no right to scold him. Even her questions seemed unnecessary, just as when he had destroyed the painting Abigail gave her. He hadn’t needed a reason. If there was one, it was simply because Abigail had hurt the woman he loved.
The silence stretched on, the faint noise from the television amplifying the isolation in the room. Finally, Alexander broke it with a simple command. “Let’s go to bed.” He rose, sweeping her into his arms with ease, his movements smooth and assured. She felt small in his embrace, his hold possessive.
Once in the bedroom, his hands began to wander restlessly, betraying a tension that matched the storm brewing outside.
Quinn stiffened, her body subtly turning away from him, silently refusing his touch. But her resistance was futile. With a firm grip, Alexander pulled her back toward him. His fingers brushed against the tender area where her injury still throbbed, and the sharp pain made her gasp, sending darkness flashing across her vision.
Her breath caught, her body freezing as the pain sent a jolt of reality through her. She couldn’t escape this, not now. Not when he held all the power.
