Chapter 32 What He Hides
Isabella’s POV
He was asleep with his arms wrapped around me.
Heavy. Warm. Possessive even in rest.
His chest rose and fell steadily against my back, his hand resting at my waist like I belonged there. For a while, I just lay there listening to his breathing, feeling the strange calm of being held by the same man who terrified me.
At some point, sleep took me too.
I don’t know how long I’d been asleep when something shifted.
A sharp movement.
A broken inhale.
My eyes fluttered open, the room cloaked in shadow, the city’s glow a faint thread through the curtains.
Alexander twitched beside me, his breath hitching, uneven.
I turned my head, still half-caught in sleep, and froze.
His face was contorted—brows knit tight, lips parted. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glinting faintly in the dim light. His jaw clenched and released as if he were fighting something invisible.
He was muttering.
Words spilling out in a jagged, desperate rush I couldn’t fully catch.
“Please… don’t,” he rasped, voice thick and strained. “Don’t hurt her… please, I’m begging you… stop…”
His chest heaved, breaths shallow and sharp, like he couldn’t pull in enough air. His hands clenched the sheets, knuckles white, his body trembling against mine.
I blinked, confusion cutting through the last of my sleep.
A nightmare.
Raw. Violent. Real to him.
I had never seen him like this—vulnerable, cracked open, stripped of control.
A tight ache formed in my chest.
Pity.
I hated that word.
He was the man who forced me into marriage. The man who called himself a monster without apology. The man who controlled every piece of my life.
And yet watching him like this—trapped in his own head—did something to me.
“Hey,” I whispered, shifting slightly toward him. My voice felt too soft in the dark. “You’re okay. It’s just a nightmare.”
He didn’t respond.
His muttering grew more frantic.
“No… stop…”
The sound was strained. Almost pleading.
I swallowed, my hand hovering over his shoulder before finally settling there.
“You’re fine,” I said, a little louder now. “It’s not real.”
His breathing hitched harder, a sharp gasp like pain.
I leaned closer, my lips near his ear.
“Alexander,” I said, steady but gentle. “Wake up. It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real.”
My voice trembled slightly, but I didn’t pull away.
His eyes snapped open.
Wide.
Wild.
For a second, he looked completely lost.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared around the room, like he expected something else to be there. His gaze landed on me, unfocused at first.
He looked like a man dragged out of deep water.
Raw. Disoriented.
And for a split second—before he caught himself—I saw it.
Fear.
“You…” I started, my voice catching. “You were having a nightmare.”
The shift was instant.
The softness vanished.
His eyes hardened, turning cold and sharp. The fear disappeared behind something darker. Controlled.
He looked at me like I had crossed a line.
Like I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to see.
All the gentleness from earlier in the night—gone.
The man who held me softly hours ago was replaced by the one who ruled with silence and dominance.
I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, even though I didn’t know why I was apologizing.
Maybe for waking him.
Maybe for witnessing him like that.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t blink.
He just stared at me for one long, heavy second.
Then he pushed the sheets back and stood up.
No words.
No explanation.
He walked to the edge of the bed, running a hand through his damp hair. His shoulders were tense, rigid. He didn’t look at me again.
The room felt smaller.
I felt suddenly aware of how exposed I was sitting there.
He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the chair and pulled them on without speaking.
“Alexander…” I tried again, softer this time.
He stopped for half a second.
But he didn’t turn around.
He walked toward the door.
“Wait—”
He opened it.
“Go back to sleep,” he said flatly.
The door shut behind him.
I sat there in the dark, heart still racing.
The silence felt louder than his nightmare had.
He had begged someone not to hurt her.
Her.
Who?
The space he left behind felt cold instantly.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the doorway.
Please… don’t hurt her.
The words echoed in my mind.
Her.
Who was her?
My chest tightened.
I pulled the blanket up around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm room.
The man who claimed he was worse than a monster had just looked terrified in his sleep.
And the look he gave me when he woke up—
It wasn’t anger.
It was warning.
Like whatever haunted him was dangerous enough that even I wasn’t supposed to know about it.
I wrapped the sheet around myself and stood. The floor was cold under my feet as I stepped into the hallway.
The penthouse felt different at night. Larger. Quieter. Almost empty.
A faint light spilled from the direction of his office.
I stopped outside the open door.
He stood by the window, back to me. The city stretched below like a silent ocean of lights. His hands were braced against the glass.
His breathing was steady now.
Perfectly steady.
Like nothing had happened.
I knocked softly against the frame.
He didn’t turn.
“What do you want?” His voice was calm again. Flat.
“I heard you,” I said quietly.
Silence.
“You were saying something. In your sleep.”
“It was nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
“You looked like you were in pain,” I said before I could stop myself.
He turned then.
Slowly.
His eyes were clear now. Cold gray. No trace of fear.
“Go back to bed, Isabella.”
That was it.
A command.
But I didn’t move.
“You were begging,” I said softly.
His jaw tightened.
“Enough.”
The word cut through the room.
The air shifted.
I felt it in my spine.
For a second, I thought he might explode.
Instead, he stepped closer. Not threatening. Not gentle.
Just close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“There are parts of me,” he said quietly, “you do not get to see.”
“I already did,” I whispered.
Something flickered in his gaze.
Gone just as fast.
“You saw nothing.”
“I heard you say ‘don’t hurt her.’”
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
“That was a dream,” he said finally. “Dreams are not real.”
“They feel real.”
His expression darkened slightly.
“You are not my savior,” he said in a low voice. “And I do not need saving.”
I flinched, even though I tried not to.
“I wasn’t trying to save you.”
“Good.”
The word was cold.
He stepped past me then, brushing my shoulder. The contact sent a sharp current through me.
“Go to sleep,” he repeated.
And he walked back toward the bedroom without looking at me.
I followed a few seconds later.
He was already back in bed, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just begged someone in his sleep.
I slid under the covers carefully, keeping distance between us.
The silence was thick.
After a moment, I turned slightly toward him.
“Who was she?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His jaw tightened.
“No one.”
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
He turned his head slowly.
“You are pushing,” he said quietly.
“And you’re hiding.”
The words slipped out before I could take them back.
The air changed again.
But instead of anger, something else settled in his eyes.
Something tired.
“Sleep, Isabella,” he said, not looking at me anymore.
I lay there staring at the ceiling.
His breathing eventually evened out.
Controlled again.
Perfect again.
But I didn’t sleep.
Because monsters don’t beg.
And if Alexander Kingsley begged someone not to hurt her…
Then whatever haunted him was bigger than I thought.
And for the first time since he locked me into this life—
I wasn’t just afraid of him.
I was afraid for him.