Bonds of the Alpha Billionaire (Maia and Alex) novel Chapter 108

My body felt like it was encased in ice. Every muscle screamed to move, to react, but I was rooted to the spot. My ears throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against the backdrop of the muffled sounds emanating from the room. A strangled gasp escaped my lips, barely audible even to myself. 

“Amaya?” 

The voice, sharp and sudden, ripped through my paralysis. I whipped my head around, heart leaping into my throat as my gaze collided with Ivan’s. He stood a few feet away, surprise etched clear on his face. His presence, unexpected and real, threw me into further disarray. 

My gaze darted back to the door, the source of the sounds that had sent my world into a spin of chaos. Back to him. My throat felt like sandpaper, the words I wanted to say lodged there, refusing to form 

“What are you doing here?” His voice broke the suffocating silence, a question hanging heavy in the air. 

The sounds from the room seemed to amplify, a contrast to the unnatural quiet between us. A heat that had nothing to do with the hotel’s temperature rose to my cheeks, burning under his gaze. Shame pressed down on me, a suffocating weight. 

“1, uh,” I stammered, “I thought you were…” The words wouldn’t come, the image in my head too raw, too shocking to articulate. 

He frowned, confusion deepening the lines etched on his forehead. Then, a flicker of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh,” he breathed, the single word holding a universe of unspoken meaning 

The dam inside me burst. Words tumbled out in a torrent, a jumbled mess of emotions and fractured explanations. “Natalia and I called a bunch of hotels,” I blurted, the need to justify my presence fueling my frantic babbling. “She’s really good at knowing her way around the city, so she figured you’d pick one of the fancy ones because, well, you are rich. And then the receptionist told me you were in room 202 after I practically begged for an hour, and I came here and…” I trailed off, my voice catching in my throat. “I thought you were the one in there.” 

Silence fell again, heavier this time, thick with unspoken questions and a tension that crackled between us. He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. 

“I’m in room 201,” he finally said, his voice low. “She must have gotten the room number wrong.” He let out a long sigh. Then, as if remembering something crucial, he added, “We are still married, Amaya. I would never do that to you.” 

His words, a declaration of loyalty meant to reassure, landed with a thud in the pit of my stomach. Shame morphed into a different kind of burning sensation, a prickling mix of anger and confusion. 

I stared down at my feet, the plush carpet blurring into an indistinct mass. Another sigh, heavier this time, escaped his lips. 

“Look,” he began, his voice laced with a weariness that mirrored my own. “Let’s go into my room and talk.” He didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading towards the elevator bank. 

I stood there for a moment longer, a statue caught in the headlights of my own turmoil then with a defeated sigh, I picked up my pace and followed him, my head hanging low, the weight of the situation pressing down on me with every step. 

We stepped into the room and he closed the door before turning towards me, his gaze a mixture of exhaustion and something I couldn’t quite decipher. 

1/3 

Mon, 24 

Chapter 109. 

61% 

He moved towards the minibar, a small sigh escaping his lips. The clinking of ice cubes against glass filled the sudden silence, each sound echoing in the cavernous space of my guilt. He poured himself a generous amount of amber liquid, swirling it around the glass before taking a long, slow drink. 

“Want one?” he asked, his voice hoarse. 

I shook my head mutely, my throat constricting at the very thought of alcohol adding to the emotional storm already brewing inside me, He sank down onto the plush bed, the springs groaning under his weight. My heart ached as I watched him, the weariness etched on his face. He didn’t speak, didn’t look my way. He just kept drinking, each swallow a silent testament to the pain I’d inflicted. Shame gnawed at me, a 

relentless ache that spread through my entire being 

Couldn’t I move? My feet felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the weight of my actions and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. But a primal urge, a desperate need to somehow bridge the chasm I’d created, propelled me forward. 

I took a tentative step, then another, the plush carpet muffling the sound of my approach. As I neared the bed, I saw the tense set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched with each frustrated breath. 

Hesitantly, I reached out, my hand hovering over the glass in his grasp. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch. It was as if he were a statue, a shell of the man I knew, his emotions buried deep beneath the surface. 

With a trembling hand, I took the glass from him then set it down on the nightstand with a soft clink, the sound resonating in the strained 

silence. 

Then, as if called by an invisible force, I did something completely unexpected, I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. 

He didn’t push me away. He didn’t react at all. He just sat there, a statue held hostage by his own pain. The silence stretched on, each passing second fueling the realization of the devastation I’d caused. 

My grip tightened, a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding. Slowly, the tension seemed to seep out of him, his body slumping against mine as a single tear traced a path down my cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, Ivan,” I whispered, the words thick with regret. “I… I just want to I keep hurting you, why I keep letting him back in.” 

to move on. 

I want to build a life with you. I don’t understand why 

My voice cracked, frustration lacing my words. “I’m so tired of it, Ivan. So tired of him.” 

A flicker of movement, a response at last. His arms came up hesitantly, wrapping around me in a loose embrace. The gesture, small as it was, sent a jolt of hope through me. 

“You keep choosing him,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “And I’m tired of it, Amaya.” 

“I know,” I choked out, “I know, and I’m so sorry.” 

There was so much I wanted to say, promises I couldn’t make, apologies that felt hollow. I hated myself for the pain I’d caused him, for the mixed signals I kept sending. 

We sat there for a long moment, a tangled mess of emotions held together by the fragile thread of our embrace. Finally, I lifted my head,” don’t want this marriage to end,” I confessed, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. 

“Neither do 1,” he replied, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions. “But…” 

His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.