Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I could feel my heart pounding as he spoke, every word cutting deeper into the truth I hadn’t yet fully confronted. Whatever expression I had on my face made him chuckle.
“There’s much more. Should I keep going?"
"There's more?" I was half-joking.
"You’d be surprised at how much I've learned, Lola. Like how you used to stay up until dawn reading books because it was the only way you could escape. Or how you always feel a little out of place, like you don’t truly belong anywhere."
"I don’t know what to say to that.”
He smiled. "You don’t need to say anything. We both know how you feel."
He came back over with a bowl of popcorn, a bottle of water, and the drink for himself with a coaster, setting everything on the coffee table before settling onto the sofa.
His arm draped behind my shoulders, tucking me into his side—casual, but undeniably possessive. It was like every touch of his had a purpose, a reminder that no matter how relaxed the moment seemed, I was still very much under his control.
“Is this one, okay?” I asked, my tone light.
“I’m fine with whatever you want,” he replied softly.
I swallowed, quickly turning my attention to the remote. My fingers hovered over the titles he’d carefully selected for me, lingering for a moment before settling on Resident Evil.
The familiarity of it—Jill Valentine, the T-Virus, the constant chaos—was a welcome distraction. We settled in as the movie started, the sound of distant gunfire and the screech of zombies filling the room. I picked at the popcorn out of habit, barely tasting it.
Alexander sipped his drink slowly, his eyes flicking between the screen and me.
It was like he was waiting for something, his gaze so intent that it made my skin prickle. I forced myself to focus on the film. For a while, it worked. The action, the suspense, the noise—all of it pulled me in just enough to keep the memories of earlier at bay. At some point, I found myself leaning into him, resting my head on his shoulder as Jill Valentine fought her way through Raccoon City. Naturally, the respite was temporary. My mind began to wander, replaying the scene back at the Delacroix residence.
As if he sensed my thoughts drifting away from the film, Alexander shifted beside me, his hand slowly moving to my face. His thumb stroked my cheek in a way that felt almost tender, but there was that ever-present possessiveness behind the touch.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.
I didn’t answer right away, unsure of how much to say.
He lowered his hand and reached for his drink. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a response, and the pressure to speak became unbearable.
“I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier,” I admitted finally. “And all of this. About…Anya too.”
For a moment, he was silent, as if weighing his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and controlled, but there was an edge to it. “Anya.” He repeated her name slowly. “She’s the past, Lolita. Your past. But she doesn’t belong here. You do.”
I looked at him, searching his face for something—anything—that would ease the knot in my chest. “But she’s my best friend, Alex. I can’t just...forget her.”
He exhaled softly, almost pityingly, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not asking you to forget her. I’m asking you to focus on what’s in front of you. On what matters now.” He paused, his fingers trailing down to my jaw, tilting my face up so I couldn’t look away. “Do you understand? You’re not the same person anymore, Lolita. And Anya...she wouldn’t fit in this world. Our world."
There was a finality in his tone that made my stomach twist. I took a breath, trying to steady myself. “But I need to know, Alex. What happened to her?”
His grip on my jaw tightened, just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of the power he held. The softness from moments before evaporated, replaced by a simmering intensity that made the air around us heavy. “Lolita,” he said slowly, his voice low, dangerously calm. “You’re pushing something you don’t want to push.”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I deserve to know—.”
“What you deserve,” he interrupted, “is to accept that she’s gone. This is your life now. I am all you have now. I am your life now.”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
His eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Then, just as quickly as the tension had built, he released me. “Don’t look so heartbroken, deliciae.” The nickname rolled off his tongue, sweet and poisonous. "The little whore isn’t dead yet. She’s gone in the sense that she’s no longer worthy enough to be in your life. You already knew that. It’s for your own good. You’ll see that soon. I’ll prove it.”