Chapter 130
Alexander swallowed hard, attempting to quell the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
His gaze drifted to the torrential rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows; the steady rhythm was oddly soothing. He downed his coffee in one swift motion, the heat spreading through his chest, easing the tension coiled inside him.
The coffee had a refined, delicate flavor—perfectly balanced.
It left him with a sense of comfort, much like the quiet moments he shared with Isabella.
Just as he was sinking into that fleeting peace, a deafening crack of thunder shattered the silence.
Lightning split the sky, and within seconds, the lights flickered before plunging the entire villa into darkness.
A power outage?
Alexander instinctively clenched his fists. His frown deepened as he struggled to steady his breathing, forcing himself to remain composed.
But the harder he tried, the tighter his chest constricted.
He didn’t know when this strange affliction had begun, but ever since he’d lost fragments of his memory, the dark had triggered something primal within him—a suffocating dread that made him desperate to flee.
Just as he was wrestling for control, Isabella emerged from her room, a towel in hand, drying her damp hair.
“Power’s out?” she remarked casually, oblivious to his turmoil. “I heard this place never loses electricity. Guess we’re just lucky.”
Alexander remained motionless, his back still turned to her. He forced his voice steady, hoping it wouldn’t betray him.
“Ontdale hasn’t seen a storm like this in years.”
Isabella paused mid-motion, still running the towel through her hair. Though his tone was even, she caught the faintest tremor beneath it.
After spending so much time together, she could tell when something was off.
“Alexander…” she said bluntly, “are you scared of the dark?”
He coughed—too abruptly. “No. I’m not a child.”
But his quick denial only made it more obvious.
A knowing smile curved her lips. “Ah, my mistake. Of course you wouldn’t be afraid of something so trivial. In that case, stay here. I’ll go find some candles.”
“Wait.” His pulse jumped. If she left, he’d be alone.
Seeing her start to navigate the darkened staircase, Alexander acted on instinct, pushing himself up from his wheelchair with surprising urgency.
Forgetting pride, he spoke awkwardly. “It’s pitch-black upstairs. You might fall. We should go together.”
Isabella arched a brow but didn’t miss a beat. “Fine. Try to keep up.”
He moved slowly, matching her pace. She hadn’t planned to leave him behind in the first place.
Though he couldn’t see her face in the dark, Alexander was certain she was smirking.
“There’s no shame in being afraid of the dark, you know,” Isabella mused, her voice light with amusement. “Everyone has their weaknesses. I just didn’t expect yours would be—”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Alexander cut in, more defensive than intended. “You’re jumping to conclusions, Ms. Sinclair.”
She chuckled softly. “Sure, sure. Stop coughing like that, or I’ll start thinking you’re actually coming down with something.” She extended the edge of her towel toward him. “Here. Hold onto this so you don’t get lost and trip.”
“I can manage,” he muttered, but despite his words, his fingers closed around the fabric.
It was still warm, slightly damp from her hair.
The realization struck him—she’d just stepped out of the shower.
The thought lingered, sending an involuntary tension through his fingertips.
