Defiant Love 42

apter 42 

Charlotte’s POV 

I stubbornly crossed my arms. “No, I won’t.” 

Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly. For a moment, neither of us moved—a silent battle of wills playing out in the fading afternoon light. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

“Stubborn,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling its perfect arrangement. “Fine. At least let me tend to the injuries I can see.” 

Alexander knelt before me, bringing himself to eye level–a position that should have made him seem vulnerable but somehow didn’t diminish his commanding presence at all. He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne. 

“This might sting,” he warned, his voice surprisingly gentle as he raised the washcloth toward a little hurt on my face. 

I flinched involuntarily when the cool cloth touched my heated skin. His free hand came up to steady me, fingers lightly gripping my chin. 

“Hold still,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned closer to examine the bruise. His eyes, focused and intent, scanned my face with methodical precision. I found myself holding my breath, suddenly conscious of our proximity in a way that made my heart race. 

“You should have told me immediately when it happened,” he said finally, his voice low and controlled, but with concern. 

‘I can handle it, and I won, didn’t I?” I replied honestly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. 

The moment his phone rang. 

The voice of Alexander’s assistant came through the phone. 

“We’ve completed the acquisition of the relevant departments at the University of Stanford. The instigator of the incident is currently receiving facial reconstruction at a private clinic. The two students who harmed Miss Cole have been discharged from the emergency room. All social media posts and forum threads about Miss Cole have been deleted. The students involved in the bullying have been detained by campus security, and the college advisors are arranging their bail. 

When I tried to get closer to him, Alexander gently pushed me away, warning in a low voice, “Charlotte, if you don’t behave, I’ll have to take measures.” 

I couldn’t help teasing him and pressing my cheek against his shoulder.: “You wouldn’t have the heart to hurt your wife. You should cherish me.” 

His expression softened briefly before returning to his CEO demeanor. Into the phone, he issued a series of merciless commands: “Fire everyone involved in the bullying. Those three who published defamatory content are not only to be expelled but also sent to the police station. Send legal notices to the ten users whose insulting comments received the most likes. Dismiss all academy leaders who remained silent about the incident.” 

After hanging up the phone, he urged me to go to the bathroom and wash up. 

Half an hour later. 

1/3 

Chapter 42 

“Alexander, you’re going too far!” I complained as we sat in the bedroom. “I was just taking a bath! You can’t just come in without knocking!” 

“If I hadn’t gone in,” he answered, his voice low, “would you have let me see the injuries on your back?” 

I bit my lip. “I just didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Lie down,” he instructed, patting the bed beside him. 

This time, I complied without argument, lying face down on the bed. 

Alexander began to lift my nightgown, and I panicked. “Wait, ” 

“I’ve already seen everything in the bathroom,” he said bluntly. “Why be modest now?” He firmly lifted my nightgown and covered my lower half with a blanket. 

Recalling the bathroom scene, my face burned. 

His fingers gently touched the bruises on my back, and I could feel his body tense as he applied ointment with surprising gentleness. 

“Alexander,” I said in my most wheedling voice, “I don’t even know when my back was hit. Please don’t be angry.” 

The more he looked at my injuries, the more concerned–and furious–he became. “Tomorrow, you’re going to return these injuries.” 

I turned around in surprise, meeting his intense gaze. 

“Tomorrow at school, you’re going to return every bit of harm they gave you,” he repeated firmly. 

“I’ll be arrested,” I protested weakly. 

His confidence never wavered. “With me backing you? What is there to fear?” Then, his voice softened: “Charlotte, I am your husband. I’ll clean up your messes.” 

While sleeping, I pulled his arm under my neck and nestled against him. 

“Alexander,” I whispered softly, “were you angry today?” 

“Charlotte,” he countered, his deep voice rumbling through the darkness, “why are you always so concerned about whether I’m angry?” 

The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t realized it was a pattern, but he was right—I’m becoming more and more concerned about his emotions. 

“Because I’ve started getting used to you being nice to me,” I confessed, my voice slightly muffled against his shoulder, “and I’m afraid you’ll get angry and ignore me.” 

He shifted beside me, turning to face me. Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, I could feel the intensity of his gaze searching my face. My breath caught in my throat. 

“If I were to leave you,” he asked, each word deliberate and measured, “would you be sad?” 

2/3 

The question pierced straight through me. Would I be sad? Just weeks ago, I would have celebrated my freedom from this arranged marriage. Now, the mere thought of him walking away created a hollow ache in my chest that surprised me with its intensity. 

I nodded, “I would be very sad,” I whispered, my voice catching slightly on the last word. 

He moved closer, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck. His thumb brushed against my pulse point, which was betraying the rapid beating of my heart. And why would you be sad?‘ he pressed, his voice dropping lower in a way that made me hustle. 

“Because…” I answered hesitantly, suddenly aware that we were venturing into territory I hadn’t prepared myself to explore. 

“Shh,” he interrupted, placing a finger gently against my lips. The touch sent sparks through me. “Let me say it first.” He moved even closer, eliminating the last space between us. “Charlotte, let’s be in a relationship. A real one.” 

“It means,” he said, his words measured and precise, “that I want you to be mine. Not just on paper, not just for show. Mine in every way that matters.” 

I swallowed hard, trying to organize my thoughts, to find words for the chaotic emotions swirling inside me. But all that came out was a simple, breathless, “Yes.” 

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