Chapter 132
Alexander’s unexpected confession left Isabella stunned.
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, illuminating one side while leaving the other shrouded in darkness, sharpening the angles of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. Yet his voice, usually so commanding, was uncharacteristically soft—almost fragile.
“Because I’m afraid of the dark.”
“Would you mind if I stayed with you, Ms. Sinclair?”
He exhaled silently, irritated with himself for falling into her trap yet again.
“Well then, Mr. Kingsley,” Isabella replied, amusement lacing her tone, “I suppose you’ll have to make do with the floor.” She didn’t press further, but she couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him like this—so unlike the composed, untouchable man she knew.
She rummaged through a nearby chest and tossed him a thin blanket. The hardwood floor would be merciless, and the flimsy fabric was hardly a substitute for a proper bed. But then again, he was the one who had insisted on playing her protector.
This was the price he had chosen to pay.
Without complaint, Alexander stretched out on the floor, his expression as unreadable as ever.
“Good night, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Good night,” she murmured, but sleep eluded her. She shifted restlessly, her exhaustion from earlier now replaced with an inexplicable alertness. Through the narrow gap in the curtains, she caught glimpses of lightning, the steady drum of rain against the window doing nothing to lull her into slumber.
Then she realized—Alexander’s breathing wasn’t the slow, even rhythm of sleep.
“Mr. Kingsley,” she said, turning toward his rigid silhouette, “you have work tomorrow. Why aren’t you sleeping?” Even in the dim glow of candlelight, he looked tense, as if relaxation were a foreign concept.
“You’re the CEO of an empire. You carry the weight of everything on your shoulders. Have you ever considered just… letting go? Even a little?”
Alexander’s eyes opened slowly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
“I don’t know how to relax. Besides, aren’t you the same? You play the innocent, but beneath that act, you’re a fox—always scheming.”
Isabella feigned offense. “If you want to believe I’m a fox, I won’t argue. But if I’m as cunning as you say, why do you still keep me around?”
For a moment, he faltered. Alexander was a man who saw through deception effortlessly, always guarded. Yet with her, it was different. He couldn’t explain why he trusted her—or why he was even here.
His voice dropped, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “Maybe because I’d rather keep you where I can see you. That way, you can’t pull anything behind my back.”
Isabella smirked. “I didn’t realize you were so attached to me, Mr. Kingsley.”
Before he could respond, she slipped out of bed and retrieved a length of silk ribbon from the nightstand. “Then let’s make sure you get your wish.”
She took his wrist, winding the ribbon around it with deliberate slowness. The candlelight gilded her skin, catching the delicate curve of her collarbone—and for a moment, his pulse betrayed him.
“What are you—?”
Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she tied the other end around her own wrist.
“You said you wanted to keep an eye on me. Now, we’re bound together. But be careful, Mr. Kingsley.” She leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper. “Stay sharp, or you might just walk right into one of my traps—and then, you’ll really have something to worry about.”
