Love Unspoken

Alexander was akin to a ruthless devil who disowned his kin, yet his willingness to share his plans with her suggested that she held a certain significance in his heart. The invitation to partake in such a pivotal scheme was not extended lightly. After all, they were siblings, a bond that distinguished them from the rest of the world. With these thoughts in mind, Freya found herself gradually relaxing.

"Brother, what if something goes wrong?" she inquired, her voice laced with apprehension.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Alexander responded with a nonchalant shrug, "If things go awry, you still have me, don't you? Do you really think I'd put myself in danger?"

He continued, "Our immediate concern is to clean up the mess Walter has created. If we don't, how are we to justify it to our father?"

He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face, "The ideal solution is to strip him of his power. That would resolve Walter's issue as well, wouldn't it?"

Freya found each word hitting a raw nerve, yet her frown gradually dissolved.

After a moment of contemplation, she finally conceded, "Alright, since you insist, I'll trust you. I know you've got my back. Just tell me what to do, and I'll follow your lead."

Alexander gave her a knowing look, not rushing to respond. He rose from his seat, hands casually tucked into his pockets, "Wait for my instructions. And remember, you can't breathe a word of this to anyone, especially not to Walter." "Understood," she nodded in agreement.

With that, Alexander left the café, leaving Freya alone with her thoughts. She sat there, her emotions in turmoil, feeling as if her own ten percent stake was insignificant.

She reached for her coffee, downing it in one gulp, in a futile attempt to find some semblance of peace.

Upon his return to the villa, Alexander found Quinn curled up on the couch, engrossed in the television. She was behaving herself today, not venturing out or contacting anyone. Alexander sauntered over and took a seat beside her.

Quinn was jolted back to reality and turned to look at him.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked casually.

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She shook her head in response.

"Come on, let's go grab some dinner." He reached out, ruffling her hair as if nothing had transpired.

The man was always so unpredictable.

Quinn watched him for a moment before nodding and standing up to change.

She donned a red jacket and jeans, with a slate blue turtleneck underneath to conceal the marks on her neck.

Alexander drove them to the restaurant where he had previously stood her up.

Arriving at the familiar spot, Quinn was reminded of how she had waited there for five hours for a man who felt like the most familiar stranger, devoid of any hint of romance. Without consulting her, Alexander placed an order that happened to include all her favorites.

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He was clad in a brown turtleneck that snugly concealed his neck, topped off with a loose black overcoat.

The outfit, not unlike his tailored suits, still portrayed him as cool and aloof-an image that could deceive those unfamiliar with his true nature.

He was engrossed in the menu, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lamps, making him appear almost dreamlike, unreal.

"Give me your hand," Alexander suddenly commanded.

Startled, Quinn hesitated before slowly extending her hand, the reddish marks from being bound still visible.

As she rolled up her sleeve, the bruises he'd inflicted the night before were also on display.

Alexander stared at her arm in silence for a while before retrieving a small red box from his coat.

Quinn stared intently at the box, her breathing suddenly uneven.