Chapter 43 On Date
Isabella’s POV
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, the same images came back.
The knife.
The chair.
The cold emptiness in Alexander’s eyes when he looked at me like I was nothing more than something to break.
But then another image kept pushing its way in.
His face when I said I was afraid of him.
The way he had flinched.
The way his voice broke when he said he would never take my life.
I rolled onto my side, staring at the ceiling of the guest room I had locked myself in.
Morning light had already crept through the curtains.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because a knock on the door startled me upright.
My heart jumped into my throat.
For half a second, panic rushed through me.
Alexander.
But the knock came again—soft this time.
“Miss Isabella?” a familiar voice called from the other side.
Relief washed through me.
The housekeeper.
I stood slowly, my right hand still stiff and sore as I crossed the room and opened the door.
Maria stood there holding a tray.
Breakfast.
Toast. Fruit. Coffee.
“Good morning,” she said gently.
“Morning,” I muttered.
She stepped inside and set the tray down on the small table by the window.
Then she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out something else.
A folded piece of paper.
“He asked me to give you this.”
My stomach tightened.
I didn’t have to ask who he was.
Maria placed the letter on the tray and quietly left the room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For a long moment, I just stared at the paper.
My name was written across the front.
In Alexander’s handwriting.
Neat.
Sharp.
Deliberate.
My chest tightened.
I slowly picked it up and unfolded it.
The message inside was short.
Isabella,
I know you may not want to see me right now.
But I would like to take you out today.
A real date.
No press. No business. No expectations.
Just the two of us.
—Alexander
I read the words twice.
Then a third time.
A date.
After everything that had happened.
After the knife.
After the fear.
I let out a quiet breath and rubbed my forehead.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
But something about the letter felt… different.
Alexander wasn’t a man who asked.
He demanded.
He controlled.
He forced.
Yet this letter…
It was careful.
Almost hesitant.
I set the paper down and looked at my bandaged hand.
The memory of his lips brushing against the wound flickered through my mind.
I shook the thought away immediately.
No.
I wasn’t going to let one soft moment erase what he had done.
Still…
My eyes drifted back to the letter.
A real date.
No media.
No expectations.
Just the two of us.
I stared at the words again.
My chest felt strangely tight.
Finally, I pushed the tray aside and stood up.
“If he thinks I’m just going to pretend none of that happened…” I muttered under my breath.
But I was already walking toward the closet.
An hour later, I stood in front of the mirror adjusting the strap of a dress.
I had chosen something simple but elegant.
Not because I was trying to impress him.
But because if I was going to face Alexander Kingsley again—
I wasn’t going to look weak doing it.
My bandaged hand still throbbed slightly as I smoothed the fabric down my side.
I stared at my reflection.
“You’re not forgiving him,” I reminded myself.
“You’re just… seeing what he has to say.”
I slipped on a pair of heels carefully.
Then headed downstairs.
Alexander was already waiting in the living room.
For a moment I didn’t recognize him.
Because he wasn’t wearing one of his usual tailored suits.
He was dressed casually.
Dark jeans.
A fitted black shirt.
His sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
His hair slightly messy like he had run his hands through it too many times.
He looked…
Younger.
Less like the cold mafia king who ruled entire rooms with a glance.
More like a man who had been awake all night.
He turned when he heard my footsteps.
And for a moment—
He just stared.
His eyes moved slowly over me.
Taking in the dress.
The heels.
The way my hair fell over my shoulders.
Something flickered across his face.
“You look…” he started.
Then stopped.
“Beautiful.”
I crossed my arms.
“I thought this was a casual date.”
“It is,” he said quickly.
My eyes dropped to his clothes again.
“You’re not exactly dressed like you’re going to a formal dinner.”
His mouth twitched slightly.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You kidnapping me into marriage didn’t bother you.”
His expression tightened.
Fair point.
“I deserved that,” he admitted quietly.
I looked down at my dress.
“I’ll go change.”
“You don’t have to,” he said quickly.
“I want to.”
A few minutes later, I came back downstairs.
This time I had changed.
The dress was light and soft against my skin, the kind of summer fabric that moved easily with every step I took. Tiny blue and white flowers were scattered across the material, delicate and feminine, giving the dress an effortless look that somehow still hugged my body perfectly.
Thin straps tied into small bows on my shoulders, leaving my collarbones and arms bare. The top of the dress gathered gently at the center of my chest, the ruched fabric shaping the curve of my body before pulling in at my waist.
From there the skirt loosened slightly, flaring softly over my hips and brushing the tops of my thighs when I walked.
It was simple.
Comfortable.
But still undeniably feminine.
I slipped my feet into a pair of white heels, the thin straps wrapping around my ankles, then picked up a small purse from the console table near the door.
For a moment, I paused at the bottom of the stairs, smoothing the fabric of the dress over my hips.
Then I walked into the living room.
Alexander was still standing where I had left him.
When he heard my footsteps, he looked up.
And completely froze.
For a brief second, it was like time stopped.
His eyes moved slowly over me, starting at my shoulders where the straps tied into soft bows, then down the curve of my chest, lingering just long enough to make my stomach tighten.
His gaze continued downward, taking in the narrow line of my waist before stopping briefly at the hem of the dress brushing against my thighs.
The look in his eyes darkened.
Not aggressive.
Not cold.
But intense.
The kind of look that made heat slowly rise up my neck.
I crossed my arms lightly, suddenly very aware of the way he was staring.
“You said casual,” I reminded him.
It took him a second to answer.
His gaze finally lifted back to my face, but the intensity in his eyes hadn’t faded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Casual.”
The way he said the word made something in my chest tighten.
Because the look on his face wasn’t casual at all.
If anything, it looked like he was trying very hard to stay calm.
Trying not to react too much.
But the slight tightening of his jaw gave him away.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Something wrong?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Then he exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair.
“No,” he said.
His voice was lower now.
Rougher.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
His eyes flicked over me one more time before he stepped forward, reaching for the car keys on the table.
“Ready?”
I studied him for a second.
He was trying very hard to act normal.
But the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.
“No,” I said finally.