Chapter 2: I don’t want to be alone

⸻

After that being said The man barely had time to react.

One second, she was crying in the bed.

The next, she was moving.

Isabella rushed toward the shadowed corner with unsteady urgency, her vision blurred by tears and alcohol. Before he could fully register her intent, she collapsed onto him—landing directly on his lap.

For the first time in a long time… he froze.

Completely.

Her arms locked around his neck like she had done it a thousand times before. Her face buried against his throat as she sobbed harder, shaking like the world itself had betrayed her.

“Why would you do this to me?” she cried, voice breaking. “Why her…? Was I not enough for you?”

His jaw tightened.

This was wrong.

All wrong.

“You’ve got the wrong—” he started, voice low, controlled.

But she didn’t hear him.

Or maybe she couldn’t.

She clung to him tighter, like he was the only stable thing left in her collapsing world.

“I waited for you…” she whispered, her voice turning smaller, more fragile. “I told you I wanted to wait… I thought you understood me…”

His hands hovered mid-air.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t push her away either.

No one came close to him. Ever.

No one touched him like this.

And yet here she was—completely unaware of who he was, breaking into pieces on top of him like he was someone else entirely.

“I’ll change,” she said suddenly, pulling back just enough for her red, tear-stained face to be visible in the dim light. “I’ll do whatever you want… just don’t leave me.”

Something flickered in his expression.

Not softness.

Not sympathy.

Something closer to shock.

Because in all his years, in all the fear he commanded, in all the people who either worshipped or feared him…

No one had ever begged him like this.

And certainly not a fragile stranger who didn’t even know his name.

“Listen to me,” he said more firmly now, finally placing a hand lightly on her shoulders—not to hold her, but to create distance. “You are not in the right room. I am not who you think I am.”

That should have snapped her out of it.

It didn’t.

She just stared at him through wet lashes, confusion slowly breaking through the grief.

But before she could respond, the tension in the room shifted—heavy, dangerous, like reality was finally catching up to her mistake.

And for the first time…

The man in the dark wondered what kind of chaos had just walked into his life.

⸻

His words should have cut through the fog.

You are not in the right room.

I am not who you think I am.

But Isabella blinked slowly, her tear-streaked face still pressed close to his chest as if reality itself hadn’t fully reached her yet. The alcohol, the heartbreak, the shock—it all blurred together, keeping her suspended in a fragile in-between.

She swallowed hard.

“Stop…” she whispered weakly, voice trembling. “Don’t say that.”

His brows tightened slightly.

“I’m not him,” he repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to something breakable. “You need to get off me.”

But she didn’t move.

Not immediately.

Instead, she clung tighter for one last second, like letting go meant falling into something worse than grief.

Her fingers trembled against the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she admitted, smaller now. Honest in a way that had nothing to do with dignity anymore.

Her breast rubbed against his rock hard chest ,wiggling her butt on his lap his breath seized in that very instant not knowing if she did it intentionally or not.

Something shifted in his expression again—barely visible, but there.

Not tenderness.

Control.

He had dealt with threats. Deals. Blood. Power plays.

But not this.

Not someone falling apart on him like he was safety itself.

Slowly, deliberately, he placed both hands on her arms—not harsh, but firm enough to create boundaries.

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly. “And you’re in the wrong room.”

When he finally guided her upward, she swayed slightly, unsteady on her feet. Instinctively, he caught her wrist before she could stumble back.

The contact made him pause.

So did the realization that she was barely standing on her own.

His jaw clenched.

This was not his problem.

It had nothing to do with him.

And yet—

She tried to pull away again, still lost in emotion, still fighting a battle in her head that wasn’t happening in this room.

“I need him,” she whispered. “Please… I need my fiancé…”

The words hit the air like something sour.

His grip tightened just slightly—not painful, but unmistakably final.

“You’re not going anywhere like this,” he said, voice colder now. Final. Absolute.

That tone didn’t invite argument.

It ended it.

He reached for the small table nearby and pressed a button—locking the suite quietly. A soft click echoed through the room.

Isabella noticed.

Her eyes flickered up, confusion breaking through the haze.

“What… what did you do?”

He finally stepped fully into the faint strip of light from the city outside, revealing more of himself—composed, sharp, unreadable.

“I said you’re not leaving,” he replied simply.

A beat.

Then, almost like an afterthought:

“Not until you can stand without falling apart.”

Silence stretched between them.

For the first time, she really looked at him—not as her fiancé, not as a betrayal, not as a ghost of her pain.

But as something real.

Something unfamiliar.

Something dangerous in a completely different way.

And in that moment, the man realized something he didn’t like at all:

She didn’t just stumble into his room.

She had stumbled into his control.

And now… he wasn’t entirely sure he intended to let her walk out of it so easily.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***