CHAPTER 32 : Blood Ties and Broken Chains

The weight of his past is no longer something Alexander can ignore. Eve is relentless, digging deeper into his history, determined to uncover the truth he refuses to face. Every piece of information she finds points back to a man Alexander has tried to forget—his father. But the ghosts of his childhood have returned, and this time, they won't let him escape.

The night air was thick, the kind of suffocating stillness that carried the weight of something unseen. Alexander paced the dimly lit apartment, his muscles coiled, tension rolling off him like a storm barely contained. He could feel it—something was coming. He just didn't know what.

Eve sat on the couch, papers spread out in front of her. Newspaper clippings, old case files, crime scene photos. Things she wasn't supposed to have. Things that painted a picture of a legacy Alexander wanted no part of. Her fingers traced a name on a file, her voice quiet but unwavering.

"Your father wasn't just a businessman, was he?" she asked, glancing up at him. "He was something worse."

Alexander exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching. "I told you to leave this alone."

"I can't."

His head snapped toward her, something dangerously close to frustration flickering in his dark eyes. But it wasn't anger—it was fear. Fear that she was stepping into a world that would swallow her whole. Fear that she'd see the truth and run.

She didn't flinch. Didn't back down. She never did.

"Some ghosts don't haunt you," Alexander said finally, his voice quiet, haunted. "They control you from the shadows, pulling the strings until you become their puppet."

Eve didn't miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides, a habit of a man trying to keep himself in check. She stood, crossing the room until she was inches from him. "Then we cut the strings."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It's not that simple."

"It is if you let me help."

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against her jaw in a touch so light it was almost hesitant. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I know exactly what I'm asking."

The underground fight circuit was packed, bodies pressed together in fevered anticipation. Alexander barely heard the roar of the crowd as he stepped into the ring. This wasn't about money. It wasn't about proving himself. This was about survival. About sending a message.

His opponent was a brute of a man, muscles stacked on top of muscle, a walking wall of violence. But it wasn't the size that made Alexander pause—it was the tattoo etched into his skin. A symbol he recognized all too well. A brand from his past. A warning.

Rage licked up his spine like fire.

The bell rang.

The first hit landed like a freight train, but Alexander barely registered it. His mind was already somewhere else—years back, trapped in a memory he had spent his life trying to bury.

Blood in the water. His father's voice, cold and sharp. Survival isn't enough, son. You take control, or you die.

Alexander moved on instinct, his body a weapon honed through years of violence. A left hook. A sharp elbow. A brutal knee to the ribs. His opponent staggered but didn't go down. The fight was brutal, primal, and every hit felt personal.

The past wasn't buried. It was a noose tightening around his throat.

He drove his fist into the man's ribs, felt the crack beneath his knuckles, and watched as his opponent crumbled to the mat. Blood dripped from Alexander's temple, his breath ragged as he crouched over the fallen man, gripping his throat in a brutal hold.

"Who sent you?" Alexander's voice was low, lethal.

The man coughed, spitting blood onto the canvas, and grinned through broken teeth. "You already know."

A chill spread through Alexander's spine. He squeezed harder, enough to make the man choke, his pulse fluttering beneath his grip. But the truth was already there, staring him in the face.

His father had found him.

Again.

Alexander walked out of the fight like a ghost. Eve was waiting for him in the back alley, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes were filled with questions.

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling sharply. "I need you to leave town."

"No."

"Eve."

"No," she repeated, stepping closer. "You don't get to push me away."

"This isn't pushing you away," he growled. "This is keeping you alive."

She grabbed his wrist, forcing him to look at her. "I'm not leaving you to fight this alone."

His pulse pounded against her grip. The war inside him raged—protect her, push her away, keep her close, let her go. But the truth was, he was tired of fighting battles in the dark. Tired of carrying a past that refused to stay dead.

Eve had already walked through fire for him. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't strong enough to watch her walk away.

She cupped his face, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else could. "We face this together."

Alexander closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply.

"Together," he echoed.

But deep down, he knew—this war was only beginning.

The past isn't buried. It's a noose tightening around my throat.