Chapter 183
Isabella remained motionless, listening as the silence on the other end of the line stretched uncomfortably before finally breaking.
Damian stirring up trouble again.
Looks like he’s planning to pull the same trick as last time—probably slipping some woman into your bed.
Alexander’s expression turned glacial.
Of course he is.
That man never runs out of underhanded schemes.
The endless web of deceit spun by these parasites grated on his nerves. His voice dropped, thick with irritation.
If he’s so determined to ruin my reputation, he’ll be the first to suffer the consequences.
Call the tabloids—scandal sells. Let’s make sure his dirty laundry gets the spotlight it deserves.
After all, he’s desperate to be recognized as a true Kingsley, isn’t he? Let’s show the world exactly what that entails.
Alexander’s tone sharpened, laced with cruel amusement.
He wants attention? I’ll give him more than he bargained for.
Understood, came the swift reply from his subordinate, already well-versed in executing Alexander’s ruthless orders with precision.
The call ended abruptly, plunging the room into an uneasy silence.
Alexander studied his reflection in the mirror, his thoughts circling back to Damian’s idiocy. The man was as predictable as ever, not even bothering to change his tactics.
Did he really think I’d fall for the same trick twice?
In moments like these, Alexander’s mind grew restless. Once, a thousand distractions had clamored for his attention, leaving him perpetually on edge. But ever since Isabella had entered his life, an unexpected calm had settled over him—like the eerie stillness at the center of a storm.
Whenever those turbulent emotions resurfaced, the first image that flickered through his mind was her—that dangerously beautiful woman, Isabella.
Alexander’s dark eyes deepened as he silently whispered her name, the syllables lingering in the air like a haunting melody.
Isabella remained blissfully unaware of his thoughts. She could only make out the silhouette of him rising slowly, moving toward a silicone mannequin tucked in the corner of the room.
Alexander had always possessed a striking physique—broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the smooth contours of his muscles becoming more defined with each fluid movement.
Then, something caught her attention.
His breathing was uneven, and the edges of his eyes were tinged with an unusual redness, as if shadows had taken root there. A frown creased her brow.
The mannequin in her mind morphed from a mere object into something far more unsettling, especially with the array of tools lining the wall, painting a scene that was difficult to articulate.
Yet, in the depths of Alexander’s thoughts, it was Isabella’s cold, unyielding face that replayed over and over.
You really are a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, he muttered under his breath, his body burning with restless energy.
Alexander slowly closed his eyes, imagining Isabella’s hair swaying in the breeze, each strand tugging at his heart like a marionette caught in a gentle wind.
And those striking red-bottomed heels she’d worn in the Burned Inds—they haunted him. A fantasy of her stepping on him with those slender heels, looking down from her lofty perch before pressing him beneath her foot.
Just like that night on the yacht, when they had been tangled in a way that left no room for escape.
A low, controlled gasp escaped his lips, edged with urgency.
It was a side of him Isabella had never witnessed.
She had initially intended to gather more information but found herself momentarily speechless.
Then it dawned on her—Alexander was only human, with human needs.
It turned out he didn’t chase after women. Instead, he turned to a mannequin to satisfy his desires.
As adults, they both understood such things weren’t shocking. Still, an odd wave of discomfort washed over her, and she quickly averted her gaze.
Eavesdropping on a phone call was one thing. Watching this unfold was another entirely.
Alexander was in his prime. Even if rumors claimed he had no interest in women, that didn’t mean he lacked natural urges.
With the constant threats surrounding him, he had to maintain an illusion of incapacity. If he didn’t find a way to relieve the mounting tension, it could lead to disastrous consequences.
Isabella rested her chin on her hand. Though she couldn’t see the scene anymore, she could still hear it.
His heavy breaths, laced with raw longing, echoed in her ears.
Truthfully, the sound of a man’s gasps held an undeniable allure—magnetic, intoxicating.
She listened for what felt like an eternity, but her mind couldn’t help but wonder, How much longer?
Memories of that night on the yacht flooded back—when they had both surrendered to reckless abandon. Alexander had demonstrated remarkable endurance, something impossible to ignore.
Another half-hour passed, and his breathing showed no signs of slowing.
Seriously, is he ever going to finish?
Isabella shifted slightly, her muscles stiff from crouching in the cramped space.
But the faintest movement made a noise.
Alexander’s head snapped up. His expression darkened.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, voice sharp. “Show yourself!”
