Chapter 133
After securing the ribbon, Isabella slipped back beneath the covers.
The crimson silk trailed from the headboard to the floor—an unspoken tether between them.
Alexander blinked, his gaze tracing the delicate curve of the fabric. Then it struck him—Isabella had noticed his tension and offered this silent reassurance, a bridge to soothe his nerves without words.
She had spared him the discomfort of vulnerability.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice barely audible.
The warmth in his chest was unfamiliar, like sunlight after years of winter. It reminded him of the chamomile tea he’d sipped earlier, its comfort seeping into his bones. If James had been here, he’d have gaped at the faint smile softening Alexander’s lips.
The restless dread that had coiled in his gut all evening loosened its grip, replaced by quiet solace. With a slow exhale, he let sleep pull him under.
But peace was fleeting.
Alexander’s brow furrowed as dreams twisted into nightmares.
“Don’t—” he whispered hoarsely.
In the haze, he was running. An endless road stretched before him, no destination in sight. The weight of a child pressed against his back, her small frame growing lighter with every step—as if she were dissolving into mist.
His grip tightened. Panic clawed at his throat.
Then, her voice—soft, haunting—brushed his ear.
“Cross my heart… I’ll find you.”
Alexander jerked awake, chest heaving.
The room was shadowed, save for the flickering candlelight. He dragged a hand down his face, grounding himself. Just a dream.
Yet it had felt real.
His gaze slid to Isabella. She slept deeply, her breathing even, the blanket pooled at her waist. Rain tapped gently against the window, a lullaby of droplets.
Silently, he rose and drew the blanket over her, tucking it snugly around her shoulders. She didn’t stir. Exhaustion held her captive, her expression serene—trusting.
His throat tightened.
Moonlight spilled through the window now, the storm having passed. Their shadows stretched across the wall, tangling briefly as he stepped back—two silhouettes merging, then parting like lovers saying goodbye.
The ribbon’s bow still rested in his palm. He traced its shadow on the floor, pulse unsteady.
Then, softer than the rain:
“Isabella… sweet dreams.”
