Chapter 40 The Truth I Refused to See
Isabella’s POV
I haven’t left this room since that night.
Not once.
The guest room door has stayed locked, the curtains drawn, the world outside reduced to muffled footsteps in the hallway and distant sounds that remind me I’m still inside the same penthouse.
Still under the same roof.
With the same man.
The man who cut me.
My hand tightened unconsciously around my bandaged arm as the memory flickered through my mind again.
That night—after I ran into this room and locked the door—I thought I might bleed out on the floor. My vision had been fading, the room spinning around me in slow circles.
I remember sitting there against the door, shaking so badly my teeth were clattering together.
I remember pressing towels against the wound, trying to stop the blood.
I remember thinking that if I passed out, I might not wake up.
And then—about twenty minutes later—there was a knock.
Not Alexander.
A doctor.
Alexander had sent him.
The man didn’t ask questions. He didn’t comment on the blood or the deep cut along my arm. He just worked quietly, stitching the wound with careful precision while I sat there numb and hollow.
Professional.
Detached.
When he finished, he told me to keep the bandage clean and left.
Alexander never came.
Not that night.
Not the next day.
Not the day after.
Which, honestly…
I’m grateful for.
Because I don’t want to see him.
The thought of looking at his face again makes my stomach twist into knots.
Makes my chest tighten.
Makes fear crawl under my skin.
I’m scared of him.
Truly scared.
And the worst part?
I feel so unbelievably stupid.
My gaze drifted toward the window, where weak afternoon light filtered through the curtains.
For weeks I had been convincing myself that I saw something in him.
Something soft.
Something buried underneath the cold exterior.
I thought maybe—just maybe—there was still a piece of humanity left inside Alexander Kingsley.
I thought if I was patient enough…
If I tried hard enough…
If I understood him enough…
Maybe I could reach it.
Maybe I could bring it out.
God.
I let out a hollow laugh.
How na?ve.
How unbelievably stupid.
Because this isn’t the first time I thought that.
The first time was when I saw him hesitate.
When he didn’t force himself on me like I expected.
When he told me we had time.
When he touched me gently.
When he looked at me like I wasn’t just a possession.
For a moment I thought I saw the real him.
The man hidden underneath all the darkness.
And what did that hope get me?
My eyes dropped to the bandage wrapped around my arm.
A scar.
Another reminder of what he really is.
Every single time I tried to believe there was something good in him…
It blew up in my face.
Every time I tried to understand him…
Every time I tried to comfort him…
Every time I thought maybe I could bring something human out of him—
He proved me wrong.
Violently.
Painfully.
So I’m done.
Completely done.
No more trying to understand him.
No more searching for pieces of kindness that probably never existed.
No more convincing myself that there’s a man inside that monster worth saving.
Because the truth is finally clear.
There isn’t anything good left in Alexander Kingsley.
Whatever light he once had—
It’s gone.
Buried somewhere in the darkness he carries around inside him.
And nothing…
Not pity.
Not patience.
Not love.
Not me—
Nothing is ever going to bring it back.