Chapter 311
ALEXANDER
I stepped out onto the balcony quietly.
+25 Points)
The doors slid shut behind me with a soft sound, sealing off the room and whatever remained of that
unfinished call.
Faye didn’t turn when I came out, even though I was sure she knew I was there.
She stood near the railing, both hands resting against the edge, shoulders squared. The wind moved through her hair in slow, uneven strands, lifting it away from her neck before letting it fall back into place.
For a moment, I said nothing.
I simply watched her.
From this angle, the light caught along the side of her face, tracing the line of her cheek and jaw. The
irritation she carried earlier had softened into something quieter.
She thought I didn’t notice these things.
She was wrong.
The wind shifted again, stronger this time, pushing her hair back completely. The sun filtered through it in a way that made it look almost weightless.
Instinctively, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
I adjusted my stance slightly, angling the frame so the skyline stretched faintly behind her, the light balanced, the wind doing what it was doing naturally.
She looked… steady.
Even in frustration.
Especially in frustration.
I tapped the screen.
The shutter sound was soft… but she heard it.
That was when she turned.
Confusion crossed her face immediately as her eyes landed on me, phone still in hand.
“What are you doing?”
FAYE
< Chapter 311
The breeze had just begun to calm when I heard the faint click.
I turned instinctively.
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Alexander was standing a few feet away from me, phone in hand, looking down at the screen with a
softness I hadn’t seen on his face all day.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. His thumb moved slightly across the screen, adjusting something. And
then–unexpectedly–he smiled.
“I think I finally got the picture I’ll use,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“For the painting you asked for.”
I stared at him.
Of all the things I had expected him to say, that was not one of them.
The painting.
When I was eager about the painting, he’d brushed it off at the time, claiming he needed time, and we
hadn’t talked about it since then.
And now, after everything that had happened today–after Roman, after the injection, after the convulsions
-this was what he chose to focus on?
I looked at him, trying to decide whether to laugh or remain angry.
I couldn’t believe he was thinking about a painting right now.
Couldn’t he see how upset I was?
Or was this his way of pretending things weren’t fractured between us?
“You’re unbelievable,” I almost said.
I opened my mouth to speak.
Before I could, his voice cut in again.
“I was wrong,” Alexander said.
The words landed hard.
For a second, I forgot what I had been about to say.
Something in my chest shifted, just slightly. The wall I had built over the past few hours weakened.
He didn’t elaborate… and he didn’t even try to justify his actions.
Just that.
< Chapter 31)
I swallowed, steadying myself.
“Of course you were wrong,” I said evenly. “But admitting that doesn’t change anything, Alexander.”
He nodded.
He didn’t argue with my tone.
He didn’t try to defend himself immediately either.
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“I needed to be sure,” Alexander said, his voice steady, controlled. “About Roman. I couldn’t rely on instinct or assumption. I had to know what we were dealing with.”
The wind shifted between us, carrying his words without force.
“I’m sure now,” he added. “To an extent.”
I held his gaze.
Part of me wanted to reject that outright. To tell him that using Wolfsbane on someone to satisfy doubt was reckless. That certainty gained through pain wasn’t something to justify.
But another thought moved quietly beneath my anger.
He is sure now.
There was no more ambiguity. No more lingering question of whether Roman was simply human caught in
something dangerous.
The reaction had answered it.
It hadn’t been subtle.
It hadn’t been mild.
Whatever Roman was, he carried wolf blood. That much was undeniable now.
I didn’t say it out loud.
I didn’t give Alexander the satisfaction of knowing I had acknowledged that part.
But the thought settled in my mind anyway.
Silence stretched between us.
Alexander watched me carefully.
When I didn’t speak, he asked, “What do you want?”
I blinked once.
How did he not know?
Why did he have to ask?
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< Chapter 311
The answer seemed obvious to me. It always had.
I stared at him, letting the frustration show this time.
He exhaled quietly, as if reading something in my expression.
“Fine,” he said. “Roman can stay in the pack house. As long as he needs to. Until he’s ready to leave.”
I didn’t look away.
“That’s not good enough now,” I said.
Alexander dragged a hand slowly through his hair, a rare sign of visible strain.
“What else is there to do?” he asked.
The question was honest.
And that was the problem.
Because as the words hung between us, I realized I didn’t actually have an answer.
What else did I want?
An apology? He’d admitted he was wrong.
Reassurance? He’d already offered Roman space in the pack house.
Reversal? That wasn’t possible.
The damage–if I could even call it that–had already been done.
The truth settled uncomfortably in my chest.
I was speaking from anger.
From disappointment.
From the lingering image.
Not from a clear solution.
My shoulders lowered slightly.
“You shouldn’t have done it behind my back,” I said, quieter now.
That was the core of it.
Not the test itself.
Not entirely.4
It was the secrecy.
Alexander went still for a second.
<Chapter 311
Then his expression shifted thoughtfully.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “How did you even know?”
I frowned slightly.
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“You didn’t look shocked when you walked in,” he continued. “You weren’t confused. You knew what I was
holding.”
His eyes sharpened–not suspicious exactly, but observant. Piecing things together.
For a brief second, my mind flickered to Martha.
To the hesitation in her voice earlier.
If Alexander traced this back, she would be the one questioned. And he would question her. She’d be in
trouble.
I couldn’t allow that.
I folded my arms loosely.
“So that’s your concern?” I asked evenly. “How I found out?”
I held his gaze.
“Because you would have preferred I stayed in the dark?”
His jaw shifted slightly. He didn’t answer.
Of course he knew I was redirecting.
Of course he knew I hadn’t answered him.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.
“It’s fine,” he said.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
