POV:) Juliet Anderson

The air inside the car is suffocating, thick with tension I don't know how to break.

Alex's knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his entire body wound tight, vibrating with something between fear and fury.

My heart pounds as the city lights blur past us.

"Alex, slow down," I whisper, but he doesn't.

His jaw is set, his gaze locked straight ahead, and I realize—he's somewhere else entirely.

In his head. In his fears.

I swallow hard. "Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer immediately. His grip tightens, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"Somewhere safe."

Safe.

The word lingers between us, but instead of comfort, it sends a shiver down my spine.

I shift in my seat, watching him carefully. "Safe from who, Alex?"

Silence.

The kind that kills.

Then, finally—

"Everyone."

A chill runs down my arms.

Before I can push further, he suddenly veers off the main road, pulling onto a dimly lit street.

The car screeches to a stop outside a luxurious high-rise, its glass windows reflecting the city back at me. I don't recognize the place.

"Come on," he says, cutting the engine and stepping out.

I hesitate.

Something isn't right.

I can feel it in the way his entire body is coiled like a predator sensing danger.

But before I can question him, he's at my door, opening it for me.

I step out slowly, my pulse racing. "Alex, what is this place?"

"Our home for now."

His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me inside. The lobby is empty, eerily quiet. No staff. No people.

A ghost town of glass and steel.

My fingers tighten around his sleeve as we step into the elevator.

"Alex," I murmur. "I need to know what's going on."

He exhales sharply, his eyes locking onto mine.

"I need you to trust me, Juliet."

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.

We step into the penthouse.

It's dark—too dark.

I barely have time to register the space before Alex's arms wrap around me from behind, his breath warm against my ear.

His voice is low, desperate.

"I can't lose you."

Something inside me fractures.

I turn in his arms, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"You won't," I whisper.

But deep down, I wonder—who is he really trying to convince?

And then—a sound.

A creak.

A shadow shifts in the hallway.

Alex goes rigid.

His body turns to steel around me.

Then, in a voice so deadly it makes my blood run cold, he growls—

"Who the fuck is here?"

Darkness. Silence. And then—

A gun cocks in the distance.

The silence is thick. Deadly.

Alex's entire body locks as the sound of the gun clicks through the air. My breath catches, my heart hammering so loud I can feel it in my throat.

Then—a slow, mocking clap.

From the shadows of the dimly lit hallway, Tristan steps forward.

Dressed in all black, his eyes gleaming with something sinister, smug—dangerous.

"Now, now, brother," he drawls, spinning the gun in his fingers before casually tucking it away inside his jacket. "Is that any way to welcome family?"

Alex moves so fast I barely have time to react. One second, he's by my side. The next, he's across the room—his fist slamming into Tristan's jaw.

The sickening crack of the impact echoes through the penthouse.

Tristan stumbles back, laughing. Laughing.

I grip the edge of the couch, my breathing shaky.

"Always so predictable," Tristan chuckles, wiping the blood from his lip. "I knew you'd react like that. You just can't help yourself, can you, Alex?"

Alex grabs him by the collar, shoving him against the glass window, the city stretching behind him like an abyss.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Alex snarls. "How did you even get in?"

Tristan smirks, completely unfazed. "You think I don't know your little hideaways? Come on, brother. Give me some credit."

Alex's hand tightens, his knuckles turning white. For a moment, I swear he's about to snap his brother's neck right there.

But then—Tristan says something that makes my blood turn to ice.

"I spoke to Mom."

Alex freezes.

Tristan's smirk deepens. "She knows where you are."

I swear the entire world tilts.

Alex slowly releases Tristan, stepping back. His hands curl into fists, his breathing unsteady.

"I don't believe you," Alex grits out.

Tristan laughs darkly, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a few times before holding it up.

A woman's voice echoes through the room.

"Alex, baby, come home. This isn't you. You know this isn't you."

I see the way Alex's body reacts to the sound. How his chest rises and falls a little too fast.

How his jaw clenches.

His mother.

I barely know anything about her, about their past, but I can feel it—the weight of something buried, something raw.

"She wants to see you," Tristan murmurs, his voice like poison slipping through the cracks. "She's worried. She wants her son back."

Alex scoffs, but it's forced. "She lost the right to call me that a long time ago."

Tristan tilts his head. "Then why do you look so fucking torn, brother?"

Alex doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because I can see it—the war waging inside him.

And then, Tristan delivers his final blow.

"Stay here, Alex. Just for a little while. With me." He smirks. "Or I tell her exactly where you are."

I inhale sharply.

Alex stills.

His eyes flicker to me—just for a second. Just long enough for me to see it.

The hesitation. The fury. The raw, aching pain.

And then—he does the last thing I expect.

He nods.

My stomach drops.

No.

No, no, no.

"Alex," I whisper, reaching for him. "You don't have to—"

He cuts me off with a look. A silent command.

My chest tightens.

Tristan watches the exchange with amusement. "Smart choice, brother."

Then he grins at me.

"Looks like you'll be staying too, sweetheart."

And just like that, I realize—

I'm trapped.

Not just with Alex.

But with his twisted, manipulative brother.

And something tells me Tristan isn't done playing games.

We are in our room, the dim light casting shadows across Alex's sharp features. I straddle his lap, my hands resting against his chest, searching his eyes.

"Baby, tell me—what is all this?" I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His expression darkens, but then he smirks, tilting my chin up with his fingers. "Sometimes, you have to pretend to lose for a while to win, babygirl."

There's a dangerous edge to his voice, something calculated, lethal.

My stomach tightens. "Alex—"

His grip on my waist tightens slightly, his other hand moving to rest possessively over my stomach.

"Everything is in my control, love." His voice drops lower, rough and commanding. "You don't need to take any stress. But remember—we have to take extreme care of this baby. Nothing else matters."

His palm moves in slow, deliberate circles over my stomach, sending a shiver through me. I melt into his embrace, letting my forehead rest against his chest, breathing him in.

I hum softly. "I trust you."

He kisses the top of my head, lingering for a moment before whispering against my hair. "Good. Now sleep, babygirl."

His arms stay wrapped around me for another second before he gently shifts me onto the bed, tucking the blanket around me.

"Lock the door behind me," he orders softly, brushing his knuckles along my cheek. "I have the keys if I need to come in."

I nod sleepily, watching as he stands, adjusting his shirt.

"Where are you going?" I murmur.

He smirks again, but this time, there's a shadow behind it.

"Study room. Work."

I don't question him further. But as I watch him leave, closing the door behind him, a feeling settles in my chest.

Something isn't right.

And as exhaustion pulls me under, the last thing I hear is the faint sound of a lock clicking into place.

Like he's keeping me safe... or keeping me in.

I curl up on the bed, Alex's scent still lingering on the pillows. His words replay in my head—"Sometimes you have to pretend to lose for a while to win."

What is he planning?

I press a hand against my belly, feeling the warmth of his touch still lingering there. His protectiveness over our child is unwavering, but there's something else beneath it. A storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

The way Tristan smirked downstairs, the way Alex clenched his fists but held back—I know he's playing a game. A dangerous one.

I close my eyes, trying to fight the uneasy feeling in my gut.

Just as sleep starts pulling me under, a noise jolts me awake.

Click.

The door.

My breath catches.

I sit up slowly, blinking into the darkness. "Alex?"

No response.

My heart pounds.

He said he'd be in the study. He wouldn't need to sneak in.

I clutch the blanket, my pulse racing. Someone is in the room.

I try to reach for the lamp, but before I can, a figure looms over me.

A hand clamps over my mouth.

I thrash, panic exploding in my chest, but a familiar scent fills my nose—cologne, expensive and sharp.

"Shhh, sweetheart," Tristan's voice purrs against my ear. "Wouldn't want to wake Alex, now would we?"

Ice floods my veins.

He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. "You're an interesting little thing, aren't you?" His fingers trace a slow line down my jaw, and I flinch. "Got my brother so damn whipped, he's risking everything for you."

I rip my face away, glaring.

"Get out."

Tristan chuckles, his grip loosening just slightly. "Feisty. No wonder he's obsessed with you." His eyes flick down to my stomach, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.

The room feels suffocating.

"I wonder," he muses, stepping back, "how far he'd go to protect you. What would break him first—you, or that little secret you're hiding?"

My stomach twists.

What is he talking about?

Before I can respond, the door creaks open again—and this time, it's Alex.

His dark eyes flick from me to Tristan, and his entire body goes rigid.

I barely register the movement before Alex lunges.

Fists fly. A crash. A sickening grunt.

I scramble back against the bed, my breathing ragged as Alex slams Tristan against the wall, forearm pressed hard against his throat.

"I told you," Alex growls, his voice lethal, "stay the fuck away from her."

Tristan, despite the pressure cutting off his air, still manages to smirk. "Touched a nerve, did I?"

Alex's grip tightens. Tristan's face starts turning red.

"Alex—" I rasp, pushing off the bed. "Don't—"

Alex doesn't let go.

Tristan's smirk falters slightly as his air supply dwindles.

For a moment, I swear Alex is about to kill him.

And then, Tristan laughs.

Low. Rough. Almost... triumphant.

And that's when I realize—

This was exactly what he wanted.

He's baiting Alex. Provoking him.

Alex knows it too.

His jaw clenches, his body practically shaking with restrained rage.

Then, with a harsh shove, he releases Tristan, letting him collapse to the floor, coughing.

"Enjoy your victory while you can, brother," Tristan chokes out, wiping blood from his mouth as he stumbles to his feet. "Because when I win—" His gaze flickers to me.

A chill runs down my spine.

"You'll lose everything."

And with that, he walks out, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Alex stands there, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

I move toward him slowly, placing my hand on his. "Alex..."

He turns to me—his eyes filled with something dark, dangerous.

"I swear to God, Juliet," he murmurs, voice low and lethal, "I'm going to end him."

"Why does Tristan hate you so much?" I finally ask, my frustration bubbling over.

Alex exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before gripping my wrist gently and pulling me onto the bed with him. His arms wrap around me, and I let him hold me, sensing the storm inside him. His fingers weave through my hair, a soothing yet absent-minded motion.

"I never met my biological father," he starts, his voice lower, rougher. "I don't even know who he is. My mom refused to tell me."

I stiffen slightly, sensing the weight of his words.

"When I was eight, she married Mr. Wolfe. It all happened so fast—I barely understood what was going on. The first time I met him was at their rehearsal dinner."

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"But they told everyone we were like best friends. He treated me like a son—at least in front of people. But behind closed doors?" His jaw tightens. "Son? No, Juliet. I was never his son."

I reach for his hand, rubbing my thumb over his palm, trying to give him warmth, comfort—anything to ease the torment in his voice.

Alex breathes in deeply before continuing.

"After they got married, I found out I was going to be a big brother. I was happy, Juliet. Excited, even. I thought... maybe this time, I'd finally have a family." His voice turns hollow. "But Mr. Wolfe never let me near Tristan. Never let me hold him, talk to him, nothing. Instead, he locked me away."

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

"I was locked in my room all day after school. I was only allowed out if there were guests, and even then, I had to play the perfect son. Smile. Nod. Say thank you." His lips curl in disgust. "But the worst part wasn't the isolation, Juliet. Not the blacked-out windows. Not the way I was forced to live in silence."

His voice shakes.

"It was calling that man 'Dad'. And kids learn form parents don't they Tristan just follows his dad footstep of making my life difficult."

My heart shatters. A sob breaks from Alex's lips, and my own tears start falling. I can't let him go through this alone.

I pull him into my arms, my fingers running through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his forehead, his cheeks.

"Alex, my love," I whisper, cradling his face in my palms. "You are strong. You so strong my love. And this baby—our baby—is going to love his father so much."

His breathing is uneven, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at me. "You think so?" His voice is so vulnerable, so raw, it breaks me.

I nod fiercely. "I know so. Because his father is strong, who never give up on anything no matter what is the situation. He is  Protective. Loving. And takes the best care of his mom."

A small, broken smile appears on his lips.

I don't stop. I keep pressing kisses all over his face—his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw.

"Juliet," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

His hands slide up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as he leans in, sealing his lips over mine. His kiss is deep, consuming, a silent promise, a desperate need.

His tongue parts my lips, exploring my mouth in slow, sensual strokes, tasting me, owning me. A constant smile tugs at the corner of his lips, even as he kisses me like he never wants to stop.

And maybe, just maybe, I don't want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

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