Chapter 4 Alexandre

Alexandre's POV

The sun had barely touched the windows. But he was already dressed-black shirt, watch on his wrist, sleeves rolled. Always precise. Always early. Control didn't clock in late.

His brother's wife, Élodie, was already seated in the sunroom when he entered.

She had that look again-mildly amused, always too knowing.

She was sipping tea, fingers painted blood red.

"So," she said, without looking up. "That was... quite a dinner."

He didn't flinch. Just poured his coffee. Black.

"She moaned. Right there at the table."

"Did she?" he asked coolly.

Élodie looked at him now, eyes gleaming. "Don't insult me, Alexandre. I was ten feet away."

He didn't respond.

She set her cup down. "I didn't know you were into pet projects."

"She's not a project."

"Oh?" Her brow arched. "Then what is she?"

He sat across from her. Silent for a moment. Thoughtful.

"A debt."

"She could've been paid off with cash."

"I didn't want cash."

Élodie leaned back, smiling. "So you wanted her."

He hated how obvious it sounded when she said it.

"I wanted what she is," he said slowly. "Something unpolished. Angry. Desperate. She's never been shaped. Never been owned. And now-she's mine to mold."

Élodie tilted her head. "You sound like your father."

That got a flicker out of him.

"I'm nothing like him."

She shrugged. "He liked breaking things. You like shaping them. Same brutality. Different names."

He didn't answer that. Just sipped his coffee.

She studied him. "Is it just about control?"

"No."

She waited.

Finally, he spoke again. Quieter now.

"I've seen men die for nothing. I've buried loyalty. Betrayal. All of it. You want to know the truth?"

"Yes."

"I'm tired of plastic women with polished lies. Tired of perfect manners and perfect moans. Lia doesn't fake anything. She hates me honestly. Craves me honestly. Fears me with her whole body."

He stared past Élodie for a moment. Through the glass. Into memory.

"She looks at me like I'm a monster. And it's the first time I've felt alive in years."

Élodie's smile faded.

"She'll hate you forever, you know," she said.

"Maybe." He finished his coffee. "Or maybe she'll break. And thank me for it."

She stood, adjusting her dress. "You're playing with fire."

"She is fire."

Élodie paused at the door. "Just don't burn yourself, Alexandre."

He hadn't meant to say as much as he did. But Élodie always knew how to pull the truth from him without asking directly.

She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

"I saw her before the debt."

Élodie paused. Slowly turned. "What?"

He didn't blink. "Weeks ago. She was walking home. Hair wet. Head down. I watched her from the car."

"You were watching her?"

He nodded once. "She looked like the world forgot her. Like she'd already been abandoned by everyone. It made me want to... keep her."

"Keep," Élodie repeated. "Like a stray cat?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "No. Like a fire. I wanted to burn her until she glowed."

A pause.

"I'm in love with her," he said, quietly. "And I'm going to ruin her beautifully."

Élodie's gaze lingered on him a long second. "You're not in love, Alexandre. You're in possession."

"I know the difference," he said. "And I choose this one."

She didn't argue again.

She just said, "Maybe I'll go say hello to her."

ELODIE'S POV

Lia's room was quiet when she entered.

The girl was curled near the window, reading. No makeup. Bare legs. Oversized sweater. The kind of soft vulnerability Élodie hadn't worn in over a decade.

Lia looked up, startled.

"I'm not him," Élodie said gently.

"I know who you are."

A smile touched Élodie's lips. "Do you?"

Lia's eyes dropped. "You watched..."

"The dinner? Yes." Élodie's heels clicked softly against the floor as she stepped inside. "But I'm not here to shame you."

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to see if you were... real."

Lia frowned. "What?"

"He only ever takes girls who fit his rules. But you?" Élodie looked her over slowly. "You're chaos. You make him shake. I wanted to meet the girl Alexandre can't control without unzipping his morals."

"I didn't ask for this."

"I know."

Élodie sat beside her. Not too close. But closer than necessary.

There was a long pause between them.

Then, softly-

"Does he make you feel like you belong to something?" she asked.

Lia's throat worked. "Yes. And I hate it."

Élodie looked at her. The girl's legs were drawn up, sweater sliding high on her thighs. Bare and tense. Like she didn't know what to do with her own body anymore.

"I used to be like you," Élodie said. "Scared. Wet. Angry. Confused why pain felt like attention."

Lia closed her eyes.

Then-Élodie's fingers touched her chin.

Soft.

Measured.

"Do you want to know what it's like when a woman touches you differently?" she whispered.

Lia opened her eyes-shocked. Breath caught in her chest.

"I-"

"Not with cruelty," Élodie went on. "Not with punishment. But with curiosity. Warmth. Something you weren't taught to be afraid of."

She traced her thumb lightly across Lia's cheek.

"I don't belong to him," Lia whispered.

"No," Élodie said. "But part of you wants to."

Lia didn't answer.

She didn't stop Élodie's hand, either.

When Élodie leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, Lia made a soft sound in her throat-but didn't pull away.

Their mouths moved gently. No dominance. No force.

Just slow, unfamiliar heat.

And when Élodie's hand slid under her sweater, brushing lightly over her stomach, Lia gasped.

Not because it hurt.

But because it didn't.

LIA'S POV

Élodie's hands were warm.

Warmer than they should've been, given who she was. Given what Lia had expected from the woman who watched her unraveled shamelessly from behind the curtains.

But now she was here. Kissing her. Softly. Like she wasn't afraid of Lia's shaking. Like she wanted it.

Lia couldn't breathe.

Élodie's fingers slid just under her sweater again. Not low. Just over the skin beneath her ribs, gentle, like she was touching something fragile.

"I can show you what it feels like," Élodie whispered. "To want without fear."

Lia blinked hard, breath trembling. Her legs wouldn't move. Her mouth felt too open. Her body felt like a fire she didn't know how to put out.

The door opened.

She didn't hear footsteps-just the click of the lock behind him.

Alexandre stood there, silent.

Watching.

Lia froze. Élodie's hand paused too-but didn't pull back.

His face was unreadable. Not rage. Not even surprise.

Just stillness. Like a loaded weapon deciding who to aim at.

Élodie turned slowly, met his gaze. "She didn't protest."

"Not the point," he said quietly.

He stepped in.

Lia stood automatically. "Alexandre, I-"

He didn't look at her.

His eyes stayed locked on Élodie. "Out."

Élodie smiled faintly. "She was shaking. Not from fear. From feeling. You should try that method sometime."

"Out," he repeated, lower.

She stood. Squeezed Lia's wrist lightly. Then left without another word.

The door shut behind her.

Silence.

Then-

"Take off the sweater."

Lia flinched. "I wasn't-"

"I said," he cut in, stepping closer, "take it off."

Her fingers trembled, but she obeyed.

The sweater hit the floor. She stood there bare above the waist-still pink from the clamps, nipples tight from the cold air, from the memory of Élodie's mouth so close.

His eyes dragged over her like a stormcloud.

"You let her touch you?"

"She didn't hurt me," she whispered.

"Exactly."

He stepped closer. So close now her breath hitched.

"She gave you softness," he said. "And now you think that's what you need."

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. Gently. Almost tender.

"She played with your sympathy," he said. "But you? You don't want soft. You want to be taken hard, fucked like a slut"

"I don't," she breathed.

"You do."

His hand slid into her hair, twisted, and yanked her head back-not hard. Controlled. Measured.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Still wet from someone else's fingers, but standing here shaking for mine"

She hated how right he was.

He pulled her closer. Pressed his mouth to her ear.

"She touched you like you were fragile," he whispered. "I touch you like you're mine"

Then he kissed her. Rougher. Deeper. Possession written into every movement.

And when he pulled away, she was breathless again.

"I'm going to remind you," he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk, "if you let anyone touch you, I'll cut their hands and serve it to you on a platter".

Lia gulped "You're mine. MINE" he growled, storming out of the room and slamming the door as he went.