He crossed the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. The sweater in his hand was tossed aside with a sharp flick, landing in a crumpled heap beside him. For a moment, he just sat there, elbows braced on his knees, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
‘Magnus’ flashed across the screen.
The phone rang—once, twice, three times—before the call finally connected.
“My wife is angry with me,” Alexander said the second Magnus picked up. “How do I apologize to her and pacify her?”
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end.
Then Magnus groaned, disbelief thick in his voice. “…This is why you’re calling me? In the middle of the fucking night?”
“Just answer the damn question,” Alexander snapped. “You’re my brother. What use are you otherwise?”
Magnus let out a sharp breath, clearly biting back a curse.
“What the hell do you think you should do? Talk to her properly. And don’t you dare scare her by doing something outrageous,” he warned. “Be careful with everything you do. Isn’t she terrified enough already after finding those photographs?”
Alexander closed his eyes as he dragged in a slow, controlled breath. He forced the anger down—forcedeverythingdown.
“I already tried,” he said quietly. “But she’s not ready to listen. She won’t even stay long enough to talk to me.”
His gaze drifted to the empty spot on the couch where Mia had been sitting earlier. His expression hardened, something dark settling into his eyes. “She hasn’t spoken to me properly since she saw those photos.”
He turned his head away, rubbing the back of his neck as tension coiled through his shoulders. His voice dropped, rough and stripped bare.
“She’s trying to leave me,” he murmured, almost to himself. The pain in his voice was raw, unguarded. “I already lost her once. I’m not losing her again.”
***
Mia pushed open the door to a bar on the street, immediately swallowed by noise. Music slammed against the walls, bass vibrating through the floor as people shouted, laughed, and danced under flickering lights.
None of it mattered.
The chaos inside her head was louder.
Alexander.
His voice.
His touch.
Everything that had happened.
Still, the noise dulled it—just a little.
She spotted an empty table tucked near the side and slid into the cushioned seat, sinking back like her body had finally given up holding itself together. A waiter appeared almost instantly, setting down a tray of cocktails in a bucket of ice at the center of the table.
“Enjoy,” he said before walking away.
Mia grabbed the nearest glass and drained it without thinking. The alcohol hit fast—warm, heavy, dizzying—curling through her veins. She reached for the second drink, her fingers tightening around the glass as memories crashed back into her mind with every swallow.
His words.
His face.
And then the album she had seen—
