Uninvited Emotions

The house felt eerily quiet after Sophie had left, her presence removed as swiftly as it had appeared. The tension she had stirred lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the gaping void Isabella had left behind.

Alex sat in his study, the glow from the dim lamp casting long shadows across the room. He stared at the untouched glass of whiskey on his desk, his jaw clenched, his mind replaying the confrontation from earlier. Isabella's sharp words, the hurt in her eyes—he couldn't shake them. He had told himself it didn't matter. That she didn't matter. She had overreacted, hadn't she? Sophie's visit was nothing, just a brief encounter, a formality, really.

But Isabella's reaction had been… unexpected. Why had she cared so much? And why had he felt such an unfamiliar, nagging sense of guilt gnawing at him when she left? He wasn't supposed to care. He wasn't supposed to feel anything.

Anger surged through him again, hot and relentless. She had no right to confront him like that, no right to make demands or question his choices. She knew what this marriage was—she had agreed to it. He was trying to protect her, wasn't he? To keep her safe from her family, from the mess that was their lives. Yet, there she was, leaving without so much as a word about where she was going.

His knuckles tightened as he ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building. He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a force that sent it scraping across the floor. He needed to calm down. He needed to clear his head.

Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the bathroom, turning the water on full blast. The cold spray hit his skin, but even that did little to cool the fury and confusion that churned inside him. He scrubbed his face, his hands pressing hard against his temples, as if he could somehow wash away the emotions he didn't want to acknowledge.

But the truth remained. Isabella had left, and it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

After a while, realizing that the cold water did nothing to quell his rising agitation, Alex turned off the shower and dried himself off. His mind still spun, restless and unsettled, as he paced back into the hallway. He hesitated outside her room—her door slightly ajar, as if inviting him in.

Before he knew it, he pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The soft light from the hallway spilled into the room, casting a faint glow across the bed. Her bed. It was still made, but traces of her lingered everywhere—her scent, soft and floral, still clung to the sheets and the pillows, like the ghost of her presence.

Without thinking, Alex moved closer to the bed, sitting down heavily on the edge. His fingers traced the fabric of the duvet, and his mind wandered back to how she would sit here sometimes, her knees tucked up, lost in thought. He remembered how, despite the coldness between them, she had always carried herself with a quiet strength that he had never given her credit for.

He lay back, letting the scent of her fill his senses, his head sinking into the pillow she had slept on. His mind, for the first time that night, began to settle, the turmoil giving way to exhaustion. He hated admitting it, but her absence left a hollow emptiness he wasn't prepared for. He couldn't explain it, didn't want to try.

And yet, lying there in her bed, surrounded by the faintest echoes of her, Alex couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. He hadn't realized how much her presence had filled the space around him until she was gone.

His eyes fluttered shut, and despite the frustration still simmering beneath his skin, sleep slowly began to claim him.

In the quiet darkness, Alex surrendered, his thoughts tangled with images of Isabella. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when he did, her face was the last thing on his mind—her scent, her warmth, the way she had looked at him with those wounded eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, Alex Gray dreamt of something other than power or control.

He dreamt of her.