A Warrior's Second Chance (Faye and Alexander) novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63

FAYE

I was in my room, standing in front of the mirror, fastening the last button on my blouse, and I couldn’t stop asking myself the same question over and over–what came over him today?

I had started to slowly train myself to accept the truth that he would never loosen up, never willingly let me in… be it the pack business or his personal affairs. And then suddenly, he wanted me to go with him.

The shock still hadn’t worn off.

I brushed my hair quickly, tied it back, and slipped on my shoes. My heart was thudding louder than it should have been for something so simple. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a friendly outing. It was business, pack business. And yet, the fact that he had asked me to come, included me of his own accord–it felt like the tiniest sliver of a door opening. A door I hadn’t expected to ever see unlocked.

“And you’re sure this is not some kind of test, right?” My wolf, Nova said.

I was wondering when she was going to make a comment. “Well, I don’t care if it’s just some stupid test. I really want to know how that investigation is going…so I’m going with him.”

“Well, we should keep our eyes out in case he tries to be funny,” Nova spoke again.

I laughed a little. “What? You think Alexander is going to drive me somewhere and maybe sell me off?” I was smirking until I really thought about the possibility…I mean, nobody wants me around here, so it should be easy. But then, he’ll have to answer to Silver Hollow. He won’t be that stupid.

Nova went silent. I guess my negative thought overshadowed hers.

When I finally finished dressing, I straightened my shoulders and stepped into the hallway, heading toward his room.

I paused before his door, suddenly aware of how fast I was breathing. My hand hovered in the air before I finally knocked. Once. Twice.

Silence.

My stomach sank. Maybe he wasn’t inside. Or worse, maybe he’d changed his mind and gone without me after all. That would be just like him, wouldn’t it? To decide I wasn’t needed after all. To retreat behind his impenetrable walls and leave me standing here like a fool.

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Chapter 63

“What was I thinking?” I said to myself.

But then the door opened.

+25 Points >

He was there, but he didn’t say a word to me–because he was on the phone. Oh! That must be why he didn’t open the door earlier… maybe he didn’t hear the knock in the first place.

His voice was clipped, low. He was angry…not at me, at whoever was on the other end of the call.

“…I left you to take care of the negotiation because I trusted you could handle it,” he was saying to the person. “If you disappoint me again, you won’t like my reaction.”

I froze, unsure if I should wait outside or follow him in. He turned without acknowledgment, walking back into his room. For a moment I stood in the doorway, torn, and then curiosity–or maybe stubbornness–won out. I stepped inside.

He noticed me lingering there and gave me a look, one of those Alexander looks that spoke volumes without a word. His eyes flicked toward the chairs by the wall, a silent ‘Why are you standing? Sit.‘

So I sat, awkwardly, perching on the edge of the chair like an intruder in some private gallery. Especially since this was my first time in his room.

Also because that’s what his room felt like–a gallery, a museum.

The walls were lined with paintings, each one more striking than the last. Heavy frames, rich textures, colors that seemed to pulse with life. And a bookshelf stood off to the side, not quite as vast as Irene’s, but still impressive. Everything about this space screamed refinement, control, taste.

He was still talking on the phone, his voice loud and sharp. “…We cannot lose this contract. Too much has been invested already. If you can’t make it work, I’ll find someone who can. Do not test me on this.”

I felt like I was eavesdropping even though I had no choice but to hear. My fingers twitched in my lap. The silence between his sentences pressed on me. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, I stood and drifted toward the paintings.

It was easier to let my eyes wander across the art than to keep listening to him slice someone’s confidence to ribbons.

One piece of art in particular caught me–it was breathtaking. The kind of painting you couldn’t just glance at; it demanded you stop, demanded you feel something. Bold strokes, shadows interwoven with light in a way that felt alive.

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< Chapter 63

+25 Points

“Whoever made this,” I whispered under my breath, “must’ve been a master. And it must’ve cost a fortune,” I added while tracing the art with my fingers.

I hadn’t even realized how close I’d leaned in until a deep voice startled me from behind.

“Ready?”

I jumped so hard I nearly knocked the painting off the wall. My heart slammed against my ribs. Alexander was suddenly right there, too close, as if he’d moved without sound.

His hand shot out instantly, steadying the frame before it could tilt and fall off. “Be careful,” he said. “This is priceless.”

I pressed a hand to my chest, catching my breath. “I can tell, I muttered. “If I ruined it, I’d probably have to use all my life savings and also take out a loan just to replace it.” The sarcasm slipped out without thought.

He looked at me, steady and serious… like I was some child who didn’t know what she was saying. Maybe I didn’t…

“Even then, you still couldn’t afford it,” he said.

I turned, narrowing my eyes at him, half–expecting he was teasing me for once…or maybe he was trying to insult me. “Really? How much could a painting possibly cost?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze shifting to the artwork. His voice, when it came, was calm, casual, like it was the simplest truth. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not for sale. I painted it myself.”

For a moment, my brain didn’t process the words. I actually laughed, thinking he was joking. But then my eyes flicked to the bottom corner of the painting, and there it was: a signature. A.

Blackwell.

I knew his last name was Blackwell. I heard it a couple of times when my father would mention it while talking about Sage’s engagement to Alexander.

I stared at it, then him, and back at it. My mouth went dry. “You… painted this?…no wait! You paint?”

He didn’t answer my question directly, just gave a small shrug, still looking at the canvas like it belonged to another lifetime. “We should get going,” he said.

And that was it. No further explanation, no acknowledgment of the fact that he had just casually revealed something massive about himself, something human, something vulnerable. He painted…he created this.

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