Page 4 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

My mind spirals out of control, latching onto the fear, feeding it until it feels like it’s going to swallow me whole.

Is this how I die?

My breaths come faster, more erratic, until I’m on the verge of hyperventilating.

And then, his hand grabs mine.

It’s warm, rough, and firm, but not in a way that hurts. It’s grounding, steady, and so impossibly real that it pulls me back from the edge of that dark, spiraling abyss.

“Ms. Lockhart,” Alex says, his deep, accented voice cutting through the fog in my mind. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

His tone is calm but commanding, the kind of voice you can’t ignore, no matter how lost you are in your own panic. I look up at him, and his face comes into focus through my blurred vision. He’s crouched down now, his tall frame somehow folding into the cramped space.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice softer now. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like this.”

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, and I can’t help but try to mimic it. My first attempt is shaky, my breath hitching halfway through.

“Again,” he urges gently. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You’ve got this.”

I try again, and this time, it’s a little easier. His eyes stay locked on mine the whole time. The crushing weight in my chest starts to ease, just a little. The walls don’t feel so close anymore.

“There you go,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re doing great. Just keep going.”

I focus on the rhythm of his breaths, matching it, until the panic starts to ebb away. My hands stop shaking, and the tight band around my chest loosens.

Just then, a booming voice echoes from outside the stifling confines of the elevator. “Hey! Is anyone in there?”

“Yes!” Alex’s voice cuts through, “Ms. Lockhart is in here. Can you get the doors open?”

The atmosphere outside turns immediately, the rush of footsteps and the clatter of tools reaching my ears as soon as my name is mentioned. I can hear the urgency in their movements, the sound of metal scraping against metal.

Soon, there’s a gap, as the steel doors are pried open. It’s just small enough that the workers can fit two crowbars in to keepthe gap opened. One of the workers peeps in through the slightly open door to see me.

“Don’t worry Ms. Lockhart, we’ll fix this in no time,” he says.

This doesn’t bring me any comfort. The doors are just barely open and it feels like it’s been too long already.

“Let me try to help,” Alex says as he stands up. He rolls up his sleeves and slips his fingers into the space between the doors. Like that, he begins to strain, working with the two outside to force the doors open.

I watch the muscles in his back and arms bunch up through his uniform as he pushes the doors apart. It’s ridiculous, but there’s something about the way his body moves, the controlled power in his every motion. Like he’s holding back, like he’s capable of so much more.

His forearms flex as he grips the metal, his shoulders flexing beneath the fabric of his overalls. A loud creak fills the air, and the doors finally part.

Alex turns to me, his hand extended. “Come on, Ms. Lockhart,” he says, his voice steady and calm, like we didn’t just survive a life-threatening ordeal together. “Let’s get you out of here.”

His grip on my hand is steady enough to keep me grounded but soft enough not to hurt.

I step out quickly, exhaling a deep breath as my feet touch solid ground. Relief washes over me. The technicians mutter their apologies, but I barely register them. I nod absentmindedly, my focus already on distancing myself from the rattling metal box that nearly pushed me over the edge.

As they move toward the elevator with their tools, I turn and walk toward my office, feeling Alex’s presence just behind me. His voice cuts through the stillness.

“I’m sorry about that, Ms. Lockhart. Are you alright?”

He apologizes as if it’s his fault the elevator had a mind of its own. I exhale again, steadying myself. “I’m fine. Just hungry,” I say, surprising even myself. Normally, I would’ve just said I’m fine and left it at that.

His response, however, surprises me even more. “I could get you something from the vending machine,” he offers, his tone sincere.

For a moment, I’m stunned. The kindness in his offer reminds of that night when he’d given me his sandwich. It’s a simple gesture, just as that one was, but it somehow feels meaningful.

---