Chapter 378

Isabella's breath caught as she met the man's burning gaze, her pulse racing uncontrollably.

There was something shattered in his eyes—a fragile desperation barely contained, a wildness barely restrained.

It was the same look that had ensnared her two years ago, on that unforgettable night when their bodies had tangled in passion. "Alexander, please—mmph!"

Her plea was swallowed by his searing kiss, fierce and possessive, like a starving predator claiming its prey.

His lips moved hungrily over hers, tasting, devouring, as if he wanted to consume her very essence.

He needed her. Craved her with a madness that bordered on obsession.

God only knew how he had survived these past months without her. Each day had been agony, a hollow existence devoid of meaning.

A soft whimper escaped Isabella as her body responded, heat flooding her skin, her breaths turning shallow.

Once again, she melted beneath him, her weak attempts to push him away only fueling his desire. Her hands pressed against his bare chest, but the gesture felt more like surrender than resistance.

No—truthfully, every glimpse of her, even in his dreams, was a temptation he couldn’t resist.

Lost in the intensity of his kiss, Isabella soon found herself drowning in him. Their lips moved together with such fervor that the slick, intimate sound of their passion filled the room.

Alexander’s rough hands traced up her thigh, exploring with bold possessiveness.

"No." Sweat-slicked and trembling, Isabella shoved him back.

"Isabella," he rasped, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze. His breath was ragged. "Help me."

His voice was raw, desperate. "I don’t want anyone else. Only you can save me."

Only you can save me.

Two years ago, she had been his salvation. His antidote. And now, even after everything, their fates remained entwined.

His kisses grew feverish, rough yet achingly tender as he trailed them down her throat, her collarbone.

Tears pricked Isabella’s eyes as she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. The love in his touch was undeniable—so different from their first time.

Yes. She was falling for him all over again.

Once more, she surrendered, melting beneath him like spring thawing winter’s grip.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, a dance of passion and longing.

By the time they were spent, Isabella’s body ached, her limbs heavy with exhaustion.

The aphrodisiac had turned him into an insatiable force, leaving her trembling and sore. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sat up, her gaze lingering on Alexander’s sleeping form.

He still held her in his arms, his face breathtakingly serene.

Biting her lip, she reached out, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. Her heart hammered wildly.

His forehead was cool now—the drug’s effects had faded.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped from the bed, gathering her scattered clothes. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled on Alexander’s shirt.

When she had been his wife, she used to steal his clothes when he was away, wrapping herself in his scent.

She hadn’t expected to feel that same comfort now.

Assuming he wouldn’t wake soon, she padded to the kitchen for water, hoping to calm her still-racing heart.

Had he been celibate all this time?

Because what they’d just done hadn’t been lovemaking—it had been annihilation.

A faint smile curved her swollen lips as she drank, the cool water doing little to ease the lingering heat in her veins.

Curiosity led her to explore the villa.

The kitchen, the garden, the living room—each space was elegantly simple, yet warm.

She remembered Victoria’s taunts, claiming this was Alexander’s love nest for her.

Was it true?

She had just made love to him in what was once their home.

A sharp pang twisted in her chest, stealing her breath.

Heavy-hearted, she turned back toward the bedroom—only to wander into the study instead.

Her breath hitched.

An entire wall was covered in framed photographs.

Trembling, she picked one up.

A young boy with melancholy eyes stared back—Alexander as a child.

Beside him sat a stunning woman with captivating eyes—his mother.

Isabella exhaled softly. "So beautiful."

None of Emeric’s wives could compare. Only her own mother had ever rivaled such grace.

Men were fools. They never cherished what they had.

She studied more photos—Alexander and his mother, her portraits.

Then—

Her hands shook.

Victoria.

There, in a frame, stood a younger Victoria, laughing against Alexander’s shoulder in matching school uniforms.

They looked perfect together.

A bone-deep chill settled over Isabella.

She had thought Victoria was in the past. That she was beyond pain.

But this photo dragged her back into the vortex of heartache.

Meeting someone too dazzling in youth was a curse.

For her.

For Alexander.

Just then—

The door creaked open behind her.