Elise's POV
"Elise," Carter said quietly, standing at the edge of the motel bed, "my father booked us a flight."
She blinked up at him, groggy and barely processing what he was saying. "What?"
After their conversation she had gone back to bed to rest her head as she had felt a headache building up.
"To Connecticut. First class," he added, a little awkward. "He wants us there by tonight."
Her heart thudded. She had wanted to chalk their conversation from this morning as a dream but now it felt more real. "So soon?"
Carter nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. So soon…"
****
The plane ride was quiet, but not peaceful. Carter stared out the window most of the time, jaw tight. Elise tried to distract herself with the movie on the screen on the flight, but her mind kept circling the questions: Who is this man? Why now?
She has heard a bit about Alexander Monroe but had never bothered to go in depth to respect her husband.
When they landed, a sleek black car with dark-tinted windows was already waiting. The driver greeted them and then took their bags and loaded them up in the car.
Soon they were on the road to her father in law's house.
Then, they pulled up to the estate.
Elise's breath caught at the sight of it.
It was massive. A luxury mansion stood in front of them, surrounded by acres of untouched greenery— flowers, trees of different kinds, some with fruits and others without. The house had accents of oak wood and ivy covered the walls.
It was the kind of place that spoke of a legacy of wealth, and secrets. As the iron gates creaked open, Elise felt like they were being pulled into a world that they didn't belong in.
The front door opened as the car rolled to a stop.
He stepped out.
Alexander Monroe.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Maybe sixty, but it was hard to tell. He wore a tailored black coat over a cashmere turtleneck, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly combed back. But it wasn't the luxurious outfit that stood out to her. It was him.
The way he looked at her.
His eyes…
They looked at her in a sharp way, assessing her with a quiet intensity that made her shiver..
"Elise," he said, as if her name already belonged to him.
She forced a smile. "Mr. Monroe. Thank you for having us."
"Please. Alexander." His voice was low and smooth. Controlled.
She stepped forward to shake his hand. The moment their skin touched, a chill—no, a spark—ran through her.
She pulled her hand back quickly, hoping he didn't notice. What the hell was that?
Carter was beside her, silent.
Alexander glanced at him, then back at her. "Let's get you inside."
****
The house was a maze with marble floors, tall windows, rooms filled with art and books. A quiet, compared maid named Margaret probably in her 40s gave them a tour of the grounds before leading them to their guest room which was equally beautiful as the rest of the house with a king sized bed, view of the garden, and a private bath that looked more like a spa.
Elise could barely keep up with everything.
She thanked Margaret, then shut the door behind her and leaned back against it.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "This is fine. Totally fine."
But that night, she barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see were those gray eyes watching her.
***
The next few days were awkward as everyone adjusted.
Alexander was polite, even warm in his own distant way, but he rarely spoke unless spoken to. Meals were quiet. Carter disappeared into the home office with his father for hours, talking in hushed tones she couldn't hear through the thick mahogany doors.
No one asked her anything. No one needed her.
She felt like a guest in a life she didn't belong to.
She felt like a ghost. Forgotten and unseen.
Until Carter left.
"I need air," he muttered that morning, grabbing his keys. "A drive. Just an hour or two."
He didn't ask her to come.
He just left.
Elise stood in the massive kitchen, unsure of what to do with herself. The sun filtered in through the windows, casting its warm rays over the marble countertops. It was too quiet. Too still.
Then she heard footsteps.
"Coffee?" Alexander's voice came from behind her, startling her.
She turned to see him, his sleeves were rolled up, collar and top buttons if his shirt were undone. He looked... relaxed. But the air between them felt anything but relaxed.
She couldn't deny that for a man of his age, Alexander was very handsome. Maybe even more than my husband.
"Sure," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
He moved with grace, pouring the coffee with care for her. "Carter told me a little about what happened."
"Of course he did," she said with a tired smile.
There was a pause.
Then, "And what about you, Elise?"
She blinked. "Me?"
"How are you doing? Not just financially. I mean... emotionally. Mentally."
Her breath hitched. She was stunned.
No one had asked her that in months.
She stared down at her cup. "Honestly? I'm tired. Tired of pretending that I'm not angry. Tired of being the one who holds it all together while watching everything fall apart."
Alexander didn't speak right away.
Instead, he moved to sit across from her, folding his hands on the table.
"Love isn't always loud," he said. "Sometimes it's a quiet erosion. You wake up one day and realize the person beside you doesn't see you anymore."
Her throat tightened.
"Did that happen to you?" she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment. "Yes."
The silence hung between them for a bit.
She glanced down again, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Regret teaches us what pride never could."
She looked up and for a moment, they just stared at each other.
Something passed between them. Not lust. Not yet. But something dangerous. Something... alive.
She stood up suddenly, clearing her throat. "I should go check on—"
But her voice broke as he reached out, fingers brushing lightly over her wrist.
"Don't lose yourself trying to save a man who doesn't know he's drowning."
Her breath hitched.
She pulled her hand away, gently. "I—thank you. For the coffee."
She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, her heart pounding like a drum. What the hell was that?
****
Later that evening, the house was still quiet when Carter returned. Elise didn't ask where he had gone or why he had spent his day doing. He didn't ask what happened while he was gone.
But something had shifted.
And she wasn't sure who noticed it first.
***
Later that night, Elise couldn't sleep so she tightened her robe around her, put on her slippers and strolled out of the room. She stood by the hallway window, watching the moonlight cast its glow over the garden.
The sight was serene and tranquil.
Then she heard footsteps again.
She turned, expecting to see Carter.
But it was Alexander.
He didn't speak. Just looked at her.
And for some reason, she didn't look away.
He stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Yeah…" she whispered.
"I…" he started.
She didn't say anything but simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I can't seem to stop thinking about our conversation this morning. There's… something about you that intrigues me."
Her breath caught.
"Elise—" he began, but she shook her head quickly, panic building in her chest.
"You're my husband's father," she whispered.
"I know," he said.
And then the bedroom door down the hall opened.
Carter stood there.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, groggy.
Elise turned, heart hammering in her chest. "Yeah," she said quickly. "Just couldn't sleep."
She didn't dare look back at Alexander.