Isabella:Love And Vengeance

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of my apartment, casting a soft glow over the living room. I stood in the kitchen, nervously stirring a pot of coffee while glancing at the couch where Alexander was still sprawled out.

He looked peaceful now, his usual composed self returning as he lay there, the throw blanket I'd draped over him barely moving with his slow, steady breaths. It was hard to reconcile this serene image with the disheveled, drunken man who had knocked on my door the night before.

I poured two cups of coffee, setting them down on the coffee table just as Alexander began to stir. He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes before sitting up and taking in his surroundings.

"Morning," I said quietly, sitting across from him.

He looked at me, his expression sheepish. "Morning. I, uh... I guess I owe you an apology."

"You don't have to apologize," I replied, though my voice was firmer than usual. "But I do think we need to talk."

---

Alexander ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah, I figured that was coming."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "You showed up here drunk, mumbling about someone who pissed you off. You mentioned a woman, and then your phone rang—someone who hung up as soon as I answered. I need to know what's going on, Alexander."

He froze for a moment, his jaw tightening. "It's nothing, Isabella. Just... work stuff. It's not worth worrying about."

"Work stuff?" I repeated, my voice tinged with disbelief. "Alexander, you were wasted. You've never been like that before. And you expect me to believe it's just work?"

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It was a rough night," he admitted. "There's this client—a very demanding one—who's been pushing boundaries. She's... difficult to deal with."

"Difficult how?" I pressed, my chest tightening.

He hesitated, avoiding my eyes. "She's been trying to mix business with... something else. She doesn't take no for an answer."

I stared at him, his words hanging in the air. "Are you saying she's been... making advances?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. And it's exhausting. She called me last night, angry because I rejected her again, and I guess I just... snapped. I needed to get away, and the only place I could think to go was here."

---

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that he was telling me the truth. But the way he avoided looking at me, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap—it all felt off.

"And the phone call? Was that her?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

Alexander nodded again. "Probably. She's been relentless."

I studied him carefully, searching his face for any hint of deception. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"I didn't want to burden you," he said, finally meeting my gaze. "You've been through enough. I didn't want to drag you into my mess."

His words tugged at my heart, but the unease lingered. "Alexander, if someone's harassing you, it's not just your mess. I'm here for you, just like you've been here for me."

He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "I know. And I'm sorry for keeping this from you. I'll handle it, I promise."

---

As much as I wanted to accept his explanation, doubt gnawed at me. What if he wasn't being honest? What if there was more to the story than he was letting on?

I pushed the thoughts away, forcing myself to focus on the man in front of me—the man who had given me so much, who had shown me love and care in ways I'd never experienced before.

"Okay," I said finally, squeezing his hand. "But if something like this happens again, I need you to tell me. No more hiding things, Alexander."

He nodded, his expression earnest. "I promise."

---

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of tension and forced normalcy. Alexander showered and changed into the spare clothes he kept at my place, while I busied myself with cleaning up.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still off, but I reminded myself of everything Alexander had done for me. He had bought me this beautiful apartment, gifted me a car, and been my rock through difficult times. He had made me feel loved and cherished in ways I never thought possible.

"Stop overthinking," I whispered to myself as I folded the throw blanket. "He loves you. Trust him."

When Alexander emerged from the bedroom, he looked more like himself—polished and composed, with no trace of the disheveled man who had shown up at my door the night before.

"Thanks for everything," he said, pulling me into a gentle embrace. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to thank me," I replied, leaning into him. "Just... be honest with me, okay?"

"Always," he said, his voice steady.

But as he kissed me goodbye and walked out the door, I couldn't help but wonder if that promise was one he could truly keep.