The room feels having comparatively little size than usual today, as though the walls are closing in around me. It’s one of those seldom occuring moments when the heaviness of this marriage seems too much to carry.
At the far end of the couch Alexander is having his sit, his posture as stiff as ever, his eyes concentrated attention on the business report in his hands. The burden of his quietness presses against me, and I can’t bear it anymore.
“Alexander,” I start, my voice quieter than I intend.I know he heard me but he doesn’t look up at me, he’s always like this–distant and unreachable.
I take a deep breath and try again. “Can we talk?”
Finally, he looks up, his intent look cold but sharp. “About what?”
I can feel the building of the kind of familiar tension that always lingers between us. The space he keeps is so vast and so impenetrable. But I’m determined to bridge that gap, even if it feels like I’m drowning completely in it.
“About us,” I say. “About this marriage.”
His jaw close tightly, and for a brief moment, I think he might settle so as to obscure vision and make a retreat into that fortress of ice he’s built around himself. But instead, he sets the report aside and leans back against the couch, his eyes moving unsteadily with something–something I can’t quite place.
“I don’t know what you actually want from me, Leila,” he mutters, his voice lower than usual, almost raw. There’s a subtle break in his tone, one that’s usually being out of sight beneath the layers of control he wears like armor.
“I want… I want to understand you,” I say, my words coming out softer than I expected. “I want to know the kind of person you are, not just the man who runs a billion–dollar empire.”
Alexander’s expression hardens, but there’s something in his eyes–something capable of being physically or emotionally wounded. It’s passing swiftly, but it’s there. For the first time, I see a narrow break in his wall.
“You don’t want to know that,” he says, his voice quiet. “You wouldn’t like it.”
I swallow hard,not having a foggiest Idea of whether to press further. But something inside me tells me that if I don’t, I’ll never truly understand him. “ Why?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His intent look drifts to the window, his eyes shadowed with something dark, something painful. It’s like watching a storm cloud gather on the horizon–something fierce and unsettling. But there’s a vulnerability raw and unguarded in him now.
“I wasn’t always this… controlled,” he says finally, his voice a low murmur. “I wasn’t always the man you think I am.”
I don’t have any Idea of what to say. I can hear the great weight of his words, I can feel the bitterness directly under them, and it makes me ache for him.
I don’t have the foggiest idea what befell him, but I need to know. I really want to comprehend the reason why he’s how he is.
“Tell me,” I whisper, leaning forward. “Please. I won’t judge you.”
He looks at me then, really face me, and for the first time, I feel like he’s seeing me- genuinely seeing me–beyond the role I’ve been compelled by force into. His eyes soften, just a little, and then he sighs.
“It’s not something I talk about, Leila,” he says quietly. “Not with anyone.”
“But you’re talking to me now,” I say gently. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”
Alexander holds back in doubt, his fingers twitching like he’s battling some internal war. Then, finally, he speaks.
“I was… abandoned,” he admits, his voice barely above speaking softly. “By the one person who was supposed to protect me. My father.”
The words strike me like a punch to the stomach. I never have a mental image that the stoic, powerful man I married could have such a deep wound. I can see the flicker of pain in his eyes, the rawness that’s been buried for so long.
“He left when I was young,” Alexander proceeds, his eyes lost in the distance. “Chasing after something–someone–else. I was just a little kid, Leila. And when he left, he didn’t leave anything behind. The company, the legacy, everything I was supposed to inherit. It was all gone. And I…”
He moves waveringly for a moment, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let anyone take anything else from
me.”
I’m speechless, my heart feeling compassion for him. I’ve never known this side of him, this broken, vulnerable man who had to fight for every ounce of power he holds now.
“You had to grow up fast,” I say, my voice soft. “That must have been causing terror.”
Alexander’s intent look snaps back to mine, and for a split second, I think he’s going to close me out again. But instead, his expression softens, just a
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Chapter 10
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little. It’s like a narrow break in a damn, letting a little bit of the floodwaters through.
“I learned to trust no one,” he says, his voice low. “My empire is built on my own. No one could help me. No one was there.”
A heavy silence falls between us, thick and suffocating under the weight of his confession. Words seem elusive, slipping through my fingers like smoke. What could I possibly say to this? A part of me aches to reach out, to offer him the comfort of touch, but uncertainty holds me back. Would he even let me? Would he want me to?
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage, my voice barely a whisper, trembling with emotion. “I… I didn’t know.”
He shakes his head, his intent looking distant again. “It’s not the thing I talk about. Ever.”
But at that moment, I observed something else in him. Something that wasn’t there before. A narrow break, just wide enough for me to get a brief look of the man beneath the surface. And for the first time, I think I understand him–at least a little.
“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to carry it all alone,” I say, my voice steady. “You don’t have to.”
He doesn’t reply to me immediately. Instead, he stands up, turning his back to me. The moment feels easily broken, like something could be badly damaged if we push too hard.
“I don’t have the foggiest idea how to give anybody access, Leila,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t know how to be the man you said that I
should be.”
There’s a glint of experiencing regret in his words, but it’s gone before I can get a handle on it. . And I realize that this—this moment is more than I ever expected from him. It’s a crack, but it’s enough.
“I don’t want you to be perfect,” I reply, standing up to join him. “I just want you to be real with me.”
He stands there for a moment, unmoving, and I wonder if he’s even hearing me. But then, slowly, he turns around and meets my intent look.
“I don’t know if I can be that for you,” he says quietly. “But I’ll try.”
I have no idea what comes next. Is this the moment that changes everything for us, or just another fragile instance destined to fade with the day’s end? The uncertainty gnaws at me, leaving me suspended between fear and longing.
But amidst the haze of doubt, something stirs–something I didn’t have before. It’s faint, delicate, like the first bloom after a harsh winter: hope. Fragile and uncertain, yet enough to whisper that maybe, just maybe, we can figure out a way to make this work.
And just as the silence threatens to settle again, the phone rings and its shrill tone breaks the moment like a slap.
I take a quick look at Alexander, who looks almost irritated by the interruption. But there’s something else in his eyes now—a mix of frustration and something else, something darker.
He picks up the phone, his voice clipped as he answers. “Hawke.”
As he pays attention to whoever’s on the other end, I feel that familiar chill settle back in. The wall he’s so carefully built around himself is rising again, and I realize how fleeting our moment of connection was.
I turn away, with the weight of what just happened my chest heavy–and what still remains unspoken.
This marriage isn’t over, but neither is the battle.
As Alexander brings the call to an end and walks toward his desk, I can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. The air in the room is closed- packed with tension, and though I’ve seen this side of him now, I know there’s more beneath the surface. More secrets, more pain–things I haven’t even begun to understand.
And just as he opens his laptop, his eyes flicker to me for a moment—an unreadable expression flashing across his face.
“Stay out of this, Leila,” he says, his voice colder than it’s ever been. “It’s not your fight.”
And just like that, the barrier is back in place.
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