Chapter 25 You Will Get To Know Her
Isabella’s POV
Alexander’s grip clamped tight around my hand as we left the courthouse, his fingers like steel pulling me toward a black car idling at the curb. Outside his mother and sister lingered, their laughter a faint echo I couldn’t catch. Sarah stood near the steps, arms crossed beside James.
He didn’t let me say goodbye properly. I’d barely squeezed Sarah in a quick, desperate hug before he yanked me back, cutting off his mother and sister mid-congratulation with a curt, “We’ll see you soon.”
His tug dragged me out the door before I could muster a word, my heels clicking uselessly against the stone.
The driver swung the back door open, and Alexander shoved me inside without a glance.
I slid across the leather seat, eyes fixed forward as his cologne hit me , sharp, woody, filling the car like a claim.
He climbed in next, the door slamming shut with a harsh click that locked me in his orbit again.
The car rolled forward, and silence settled thick between us , heavy, oppressive. My hands stayed clenched in my lap, shoulders rigid, gaze tracing the city blurring past the window. He didn’t speak. I wouldn’t dare.
Until he did.
“My mother expects us at her house,” he said, voice low and steady, a directive cloaked as conversation.
I blinked, head tilting slightly. “What?”
“She wants to celebrate.” His tone didn’t waver, cold and deliberate. “She’s upset I chose the courthouse , no grand wedding , so she’s hosting lunch at her place. Just us, James, Ava, and her. She’s eager to know you , always wanted a daughter-in-law. This is her moment.”
My stomach twisted, nausea surging as I clenched my fists tighter, frustration clawing up my throat.
Sitting at his mother’s table, playing the doting bride , it was a sick joke.
She’d glowed at the wedding, all warmth and joy, believing her son had found love, believing I’d chosen this.
And he expected me to lie to her, to weave myself into that delusion. I couldn’t stomach it.
“She thinks this is real,” I said, voice tight, anger simmering beneath the words.
“She thinks we’re in love, that we wanted this. You’ll sit there, smiling, pretending it’s not a sham. And I’m supposed to laugh, chat, act like her perfect daughter-in-law , just so we can tear it apart in twelve months?”
My pulse hammered, breath sharp. “I won’t do that to her. I can’t face her, knowing the truth. Maybe lying to your own mother comes easy to you, like killing a man and brushing it off does.”
The air shifted, thickened, and turned suffocating. He didn’t move at first, but I felt it: his presence coiling, tightening. His fingers flexed against his thigh, slow and controlled, his jaw locking hard.
He was holding himself back.
Then, without warning, his hand shot out, wrapping around my throat.
I gasped, body stiffening as his fingers clamped down, choking off my air, firm enough to cut my air. My hands flew to his wrist, nails digging in, pulse roaring in my ears.
“You don’t know a damn thing about my mother,” he said, voice ice-cold and lethal, slicing against my skin like a blade. “And you don’t get to question me.”
My breath hitched, shallow and ragged, his grip unrelenting.
“You will have dinner with my family,” he continued, fingers tightening just enough to send a jolt through my veins.
“You’ll smile. You’ll play the perfect daughter-in-law , because I don’t care about twelve months from now. I care about this.”
“You’ll watch your mouth,” he added, his hold pressing harder, a warning pulsing through me. “I’ve let you talk too much, act too free. That stops today. You speak when I allow it. You don’t question me. And you never bring up things you can’t comprehend.”
His hand burned against my throat , firm, possessive, searing. My hands shook as I forced out a breath, voice a trembling whisper. “Okay,” I said, glaring through the tears I fought back, defiance flickering even as I bent.
He watched me, gray eyes boring into mine, assessing, ensuring I meant it. Then, abruptly, he released my neck.
I jerked back, breath coming in gasps, fingers flying to my neck where his touch lingered, a phantom scorch. I turned to the window, hands clenching in my lap, throat burning, chest tight. I couldn’t speak , wouldn’t , fear and fury tangling as the silence swallowed us whole.
For the first time since this nightmare started, I saw it clearly: I’d thought I knew Alexander Kingsley. I’d been wrong. I’d barely glimpsed the surface.
The car ride dragged on, each minute heavier than the last.
I didn’t look at him , couldn’t , his presence a suffocating weight beside me, still and silent.
My hands trembled faintly, nerves buzzing as the truth sank in: he was worse than I’d imagined, a dark force I couldn’t escape.
My stomach churned, breath unsteady, fear swelling larger than ever.
I wasn’t just trapped.
I was powerless.
And more terrified than I’d ever been.
The car veered off the main road, and I glanced outside, stomach flipping. A long driveway stretched ahead, flanked by manicured hedges and towering trees. Sleek iron gates parted slowly, revealing a curved road to an estate that defied reality.
Alexander’s mother didn’t have a house.
She had a mansion.
White stone gleamed under towering columns, floor-to-ceiling windows glowing warm in the dusk. Perfect lawns sprawled around it, dotted with marble statues and rose bushes, a circular drive looping past a sparkling fountain where luxury cars , a Bentley, a matte-black Porsche , shone in neat rows.
I barely registered it all before the car stopped at the massive double doors, the engine’s hum fading into the night’s quiet.