CHAPTER FIVE

THE WRONG WING

ISABELLA

Three days.

Seventy-two hours of pretending I wasn't checking my phone every five minutes.

Julien called twice more. Real conversations and not the usual forty-second check-ins. He asked about the house, the weather, and what I'd eaten for dinner.

Normal boyfriend things. Things I'd begged for over two years.

And all I could think about was a text from an unknown number.

"I'll be back before you know it. Stay out of trouble."

Stay out of trouble.

What kind of trouble? The kind where I couldn't stop replaying his voice? The kind where I lie awake at night imagining his hands? The kind where my boyfriend's "I miss you" landed hollow because my heart was already somewhere else?

I was already in trouble. Deep trouble.

Camille seemed to notice the change in my behavior.

"You've been weird all week," she said on Tuesday morning, sprawled across my bed while I pretended to read. "Is it Julien? Did he do something again?"

"No. He's been... good, actually."

That seemed to catch her by complete surprise as she pulled my book away from my face abruptly, staring at me with questioning gazes.

"Julien's good? Like, good good?"

"Yeah? Why are you surprised?"

She scoffed. "He's never been good. He has, one way or the other, been an asshole."

I hit the book on her head cautiously. He gave an "ow" and rubbed her forehead with her fingers dramatically.

"Then what is it?"

I stared at her, thinking about the odds of just telling her the truth and how her father's name had become a prayer I whispered to myself at night.

Oh God, Izzy. You're going crazy. You're going absolutely fucking crazy.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said instead. "Just restless."

"Then let's go out tonight. There's this bar in town-"

"I'm not in the mood."

She stared at me for a long moment. Then she shrugged. "Fine. But you're not moping here alone. I'm dragging you to the main house to watch movies; the TV in here is pathetic."

I didn't argue mostly because being in the main house felt closer to him somehow.

It was stupid and pathetic, but it was true.

We watched two movies and ate an entire bag of popcorn, and Camille fell asleep halfway through the third, head lolling against the couch cushions.

I stayed awake, forcing my eyes through the movie until, one way or the other, my eyes dulled to the sound of sleep, and I was lying next to Camille.

____

"Is this how you fall asleep anywhere?"

Sleep completely vanished from my eyes when I heard the voice after the light tap.

Alexander was back, and he was standing right in front of me.

My head snapped to Camille, who was still lying on the couch beside me, still in deep sleep.

"When did you get back?"

"A few minutes ago."

His eyes took in my form, and I suddenly became conscious of what I was wearing. I was wearing nothing but a shirt with no bra and panties on, and half of my ass was in view.

I immediately pulled down my shirt, feeling fluids in-between my legs.

Alexander bent, reducing to my height, and stared into my eyes. His large hands raised and rested on my thighs, lifting my shirt right back into the position it was in.

The touch of his hands sent a bolt of electricity to my spine and attacked every nerve.

I inhaled from his touch.

I thought he'd lift his hands after lifting my shirt, but his hands traveled to my ass, squeezing gently in his palm.

I bit down on my lips to stop the moan from escaping and glanced at Camille, who was still sleeping.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

I was tongue-tied. I couldn't focus my brain to form a reply.

Just when I thought I'd finally freed my tongue of its bondage, I felt a tap on my arm.

"Izzy!"

I snapped my eyes open. I raised my head to see Camille standing over me, and I realized I'd been dreaming.

I hated her instantly for waking me.

"It's late; go to your room. The couch isn't the ideal place to stay."

I nodded my head, and she walked away. But I was no longer sleepy.

The main house was beautiful at night, all shadows and moonlight, and expensive art glowing faintly in the dark. I wandered through the living room, past the formal dining area, and down a hallway I hadn't explored before.

The doors here were heavier, with darker wood and brass handles that felt cool under my fingers.

At the end of the hallway, a door stood slightly ajar. Just a crack for me to see the faint glow of light inside.

Probably a guest room or a study.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside out of curiosity.

The room was massive, with dark wood and deep colors. It had a bed that could fit four people and windows that faced the sea, with moonlight spilling across the floor.

What is this place?

My heart slammed against my ribs as my mind cautioned me to walk away.

Then the bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out in slow waves, curling into the bedroom air. And through it was a silhouette.

Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and water still sliding down skin that looked like it had been carved by someone with very specific intentions.

Alexander stepped out, running a towel through his hair, completely naked with his dick bare for the whole world to see.

Then he lowered the towel, and our eyes met.

And the world stopped.

For five endless seconds, neither of us moved. He just stood there, naked as the day he was born, water dripping from his hair down his chest, down his stomach, and into his dick.

I couldn't look away; my body had apparently abandoned all sense of self-preservation.

Then slowly and deliberately, he reached for a towel on the rack beside him and wrapped it around his waist. And finally, he spoke.

"You're in the wrong wing."

Words had officially abandoned me along with my dignity.

THE LINE THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST

ISABELLA

“You’re in the wrong wing.”

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried anyway, steady and controlled, like everything about him. My brain finally rebooted, just enough to remember how humiliation worked. “I…” I swallowed. “I didn’t know.” Brilliant. Absolutely groundbreaking response, Isabella.

Alexander moved to pick up another towel from where it was, forgetting the one he used to dry his hair and adjusted it around his waist, not rushed, not flustered. Just… deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world and I was the one out of place. Which, to be fair, I was.

“This part of the house is private,” he continued, stepping past me toward the dresser. “Camille should have mentioned that.”

“She probably did,” I muttered. “I just… didn’t think I’d end up here.” His reflection caught mine in the mirror. That same sharp, assessing look. Like he was trying to figure something out and I was the problem he hadn’t solved yet.

“You seem to have a habit of wandering into places you shouldn’t be.” My chest tightened.

“That sounds like an accusation.”

“It’s an observation.” Silence stretched again, thick and uncomfortable and charged with something I didn’t want to name. I should leave. I didn’t move. He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Isabella.” The way he said my name this time was different. Quieter. Firmer. A warning. “You should go.”

I nodded quickly, turning toward the door before my body could betray me again. But my hand paused on the handle. Because something in me, reckless, curious, completely unhinged, needed to know.

“Did you mean it?” I didn’t turn around.

“Mean what?”

“That night,” I said, my voice barely steady. “When you said it would be complicated.” A pause. Then…

“Yes.” Simple. Direct. Final. That should have been enough. It wasn’t.

“Is that why you left?” I asked. This time I did turn. He was watching me again. Not amused. Not soft. Something heavier.

“I left because I had work,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.” His jaw tightened slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for me.

“You’re looking for answers you won’t like,” he said.

“Try me.” Another step closer. Not touching. Never touching. Just close enough that I could feel it.

“This doesn’t end well for you,” he said quietly. Not for us. For you. That landed harder than I expected.

“And for you?” I asked. A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Gone just as quickly.

“I don’t lose control,” he said. There it was. The lie. Or maybe not a lie. Maybe just something he believed. My heart was beating too fast. My thoughts are louder than they should be.

“Then why do I feel like you already have?” I don’t know what possessed me to say that. I really don’t. Some part of my brain clearly clocked out and left chaos in charge. For the first time since I met him…

He didn’t respond immediately. And that silence? That was my answer. It was everything I needed to know and I was somehow content with that.

I opened the door before I could say anything worse. “Goodnight, Mr. Moreau.” There was a pause. Then, behind me, he said, “Alexander.” I froze.

“If you’re going to keep finding your way into my space,” he added calmly, “you should at least use my name.” My grip tightened on the door handle. This man was going to ruin my life. I could feel it. And the worst part? I didn’t think I wanted to stop him.

I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind me a little too quickly, like it might burn me if I stayed any longer. My lungs finally remembered their job. Air rushed in, sharp and uneven, like I’d been underwater and had only just surfaced. What the hell was that?

I leaned back against the wall, pressing my palms flat against the cool wood as if it could steady something inside me that had gone completely off balance. Alexander. Not Mr. Moreau anymore. That felt… dangerous. It shouldn’t matter. It was just a name. Just a small shift. But it didn’t feel small. It felt like a line had been moved, quietly, deliberately, and I had stepped over it without even noticing. Or worse…I had noticed. And I’d stepped anyway.

I pushed myself off the wall and started walking, faster than necessary, like distance might fix whatever had just happened in that room. It didn’t. Because his voice followed me.

If you’re going to keep finding your way into my space…

Like this was inevitable. Like this was already a pattern. My chest tightened. No. It wasn’t. This was a mistake. One wrong turn. One moment of curiosity that had gotten out of hand. That was all. Except it didn’t feel like all.

By the time I reached my room, my pulse still hadn’t settled. I shut the door behind me, twisting the lock with more force than necessary, like that would somehow keep everything else out. Him out. The thought almost made me laugh. As if a door could do that.

I crossed to the bed and sat down, staring at nothing, my mind replaying every second on a loop I couldn’t shut off. The way he looked at me. The way he didn’t move away. The way he said my name. Alexander. I dropped back onto the mattress with a groan, dragging a pillow over my face.

“This is insane,” I muttered into the fabric. It was. I had a boyfriend. A life. A version of myself that made sense. And somehow, in less than a few days, all of that felt… distant. Faded at the edges. Replaced by something sharper. Louder. More dangerous.

I turned onto my side, staring at my phone on the nightstand. No new messages. Good. I didn’t need one. I already knew. This wasn’t going away. Whatever this was…It had already started. And the worst part? I hadn’t even tried to stop it.