Page 15 of Under His Protection

I close my eyes, letting the tears flow freely. I don’t know what I will do, but I know I have to find a way to survive this.

The oak doors groan open like a beast, letting out a weary sigh. Opulence slams into me - polished marble, his crystal chandelier sparkling like a captured galaxy, the scent of cedarwood and leather that always smells like Alexander. It’s supposed to be intoxicating, but tonight, the air feels thick, like I’m breathing in a blend of luxury and fear.

“Ava,” Alexander’s voice is a low rumble, a familiar sound that should bring comfort but instead makes my stomach clench. He’s standing in the grand foyer. His features are etched with exhaustion. His eyes are shadowed with a weariness that seems to have taken root in the depths of his soul. My thoughts race - How shall I start?

Instead he takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on me. “Where are your bags? Did the moving truck take the boxes?”

I step back, a lump forming in my throat. The cool marble floor feels cold beneath my feet, and the silence of the mansion is almost deafening.

“That’s what concerns you? The moving boxes?” I say, shaking my head.

His face softens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “Ava, I missed you. I’m glad you came. Let’s talk.”

Tears welling up in my eyes, I pull away, my voice trembling. “You lied to me, Alexander. You kept the truth from me. You’ve been hiding a secret for all this time.”

“Ava, I—” he says, his voice rough.

How can he be so calm?

“You killed my parents, Alexander!” I hiss.

He doesn’t answer. His gaze is distant, lost.

“The car — it was your father’s car, the car that—” I can’t bring myself to say it. The memory of the mangled car, the shattered glass, and the smell of blood and gasoline, water, and dead bodies rises in my mind.

He steps closer, his arms outstretched, but I back away. Shivering, I pull my coat tighter around me, seeking a sliver of comfort.

“Ava, I was young,” he says, his voice a low plea. “It was a mistake. I never meant to—”

“Murder them?” I spit, the words sharp and cruel.

“Ava,” he says. “I know I can’t take back what happened. But—”

“You killed my parents, Alexander,” I say, my voice trembling. “You stole my family from me, and then you lied to me about it.”

“Ava, please,” he begs, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m just trying to protect you, to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” I laugh, a bitter sound that echoes in the grand foyer. “You’re the most dangerous man I know, Alexander. You’re a monster.”

“Ava, I— I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

“Love?” I scoff. “Love? Do you think love is enough to erase this? You think love can justify what you’ve done?”

He steps back, shoulders slumping like a weary warrior surrendering to defeat. His eyes, usually filled with a playful fire, are now dulled with a despair that chills me to the bone. The tears that stream down my face feel like molten lava, burning a path through the wreckage of my heart. “It’s over,” I whisper, the words barely audible against the storm raging inside me.

I turn and walk towards the door. I can feel his eyes boring into my back. I can’t bear to look at him. The image of his pain, his regret, his desperation, is too much to bear. He is the love of my life, the man I thought I’d spend forever with, but he’s also the man who took everything from me.

A deep, guttural growl erupts from Alexander, and I turn around.

“No, Ava, please,” he begs. He throws his hands up, his face contorted with anguish. His jaw is clenched, his eyes wide and desperate. “Please, don’t leave. I was a mess, a reckless kid, a mistake. I didn’t know what I was doing. I made a mistake. I made so many mistakes, Ava. But I’m different now. I’m not that kid anymore.”

He stumbles forward, his hands reaching out as if to grasp at me, but I keep walking, my eyes now fixed on the imposing oak door.

He collapses to his knees. “Please, Ava,” he cries. “Don’t leave me. I’m so sorry. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

His words, his pain, they are a physical force, a pressure that threatens to crack the shell of my anger. I feel a flicker of sympathy, a tug of compassion, a moment of doubt.

But then, the image of the car crash and the pain of my parents’ loss all floods back, pulling me under. It’s a visceral memory, sharp and unbearable. The anger returns, fiercer than before.

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