CHAPTER 43: STRONG NOT BRAVE

Charles’ POV

Alexander’s expression shifted — not soft, not angry.

Just... knowing.

"How do you know?" I repeated, sitting up straighter.

He exhaled.

That slow, heavy kind of breath soldiers took before saying something they usually wouldn’t.

"Because he’s like me," Alexander said.

I blinked. "...What?"

He rubbed his thumb against his palm, a habit he had when he was thinking too much.

"You and Louis—" he started, then shook his head. "It’s the same pattern I see in half the idiots I served with. Men who would rather break their own bones than admit they want something."

I stared.

Alexander didn’t look at me. He looked ahead, jaw tight.

"People like us don’t know how to choose happiness," he said quietly.

"We choose duty. Obligation. The option that hurts us the least publicly."

He gave a humorless laugh.

"And then sometimes— we choose the one that hurts us the most privately."

My chest tightened.

"You think Louis is like that?" I whispered.

"I don’t think," Alexander said. "I know."

I swallowed.

"Alex... what does that mean?"

He finally looked at me then, eyes sharp but tired.

The way someone looked after years of carrying things they never said out loud.

"It means he picked the safe choice," Alexander said. "The one that wouldn’t shake his world. The one everyone expected."

He paused.

"And he didn’t pick you because loving someone the way he loves you? That would change everything. Break things. Force him to be brave."

A beat.

"And brave is not the same as strong," he added softly. "Trust me... I’ve met a lot of strong men who couldn’t be brave."

The room felt suddenly too quiet.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Alexander went on, voice low and steady:

"Louis is like me," he said.

"Good at running. Good at obeying. Terrible at wanting."

My throat tightened painfully.

"And that’s why," Alexander continued, "sooner or later, he would’ve broken the engagement. Not because of destiny. Not because of romance."

He looked at me, really looked.

"But because people like Louis—and people like me—can only pretend for so long before something cracks."

Silence.

He leaned back slightly, arms crossed again, but it wasn’t a defensive posture this time. More like he was bracing himself.

"You think I don’t understand him," Alexander said quietly.

"But I understand him better than anyone. Because I know exactly what it’s like to want someone so much it feels easier to run from them."

My breath caught.

He didn’t correct himself.

He didn’t take it back.

He just held my gaze, steady and unbearably honest.

I whispered, "Alex..."

He looked away instantly, jaw flexing — soldier mode snapping back into place.

"Forget it," he muttered.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t forget any of it.

"Are you hungry?" Alexander asked, his voice gentler now as he reached out and patted my head.

I blinked up at him, too tired to even pretend to be annoyed.

"A little," I admitted, stretching as a yawn slipped out.

His lips twitched — the closest thing to a smile he’d allow himself.

"Go have your bath and dress up," he said, standing and ruffling my hair once more. "I’ll make something. My clothes are in the cupboard."

He turned toward the door like it was nothing.

Like offering me food

and shelter

and his clothes

was just routine for him.

But it wasn’t routine for me.

I watched his back for a second longer than I should’ve.

"You’re cooking?" I asked suspiciously.

Alexander paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder with a faint glare.

"If you insult my cooking, I’ll feed you sand."

I snorted. "Very nutritious."

He rolled his eyes. "Just go get ready."

I pushed myself off the bed, muscles still heavy with leftover exhaustion.

When I walked to the cupboard, I found neatly folded shirts and sweatpants — simple, soft, warm. All smelling faintly like him.

I stared at the clothes for a second, feeling something shift in my chest.

His clothes weren’t huge on me — just... bigger. Enough that his shirts would hang loose around my shoulders and his sweats would sit low on my hips unless I tightened the drawstring.

The kind of size difference that said:

Alexander is built like someone who could carry me with one arm and not break a sweat.

I grabbed a soft black tee and held it up.

"Alex," I called.

He answered from the kitchen, "What now?"

"These are... a little big on me."

"Good," he called back, unfazed. "You’ll be comfortable."

I stared at the shirt again.

Comfortable, sure.

Drowned? No.

But wearing it would look... obvious.

Obvious that it wasn’t mine.

Obvious that I slept here.

Obvious that I’d run to him.

"Don’t overthink it," Alexander added, like he could hear my brain working from three rooms away. "They’ll fit."

I raised a brow. "You sure?"

He appeared in the doorway — not all the way in, just enough to look at me, arms crossed. When his eyes dragged over the shirt in my hands, something flickered in his expression.

Approval?

Possessiveness?

A quiet, inward good?

He masked it instantly.

"They’ll be a bit loose," he said simply. "But they won’t swallow you."

"So... you’ve imagined me in your clothes before?"

He froze.

Just for a second.

Jaw tight.

Eyes narrowing.

A single dangerous inhale.

Then, evenly:

"No. Take your bath."

I smiled — slow, victorious.

He turned before I could see anything else, muttering something about regretting every friendship choice he’d ever made.

I held the shirt to my chest and whispered, "Not that big, but definitely yours."

And somehow...

that felt safer than anything I’d worn in days.

---

I had my bath, used some of Alex’s cologne even, explored his room, what was in his room where he kept his stuff.

I picked out one of Alexander’s shirts and held it up.

It wasn’t huge.

It wasn’t tiny.

It was... annoyingly perfect.

I hated that.

As an alpha myself, I wasn’t small — broad shoulders, solid build, strength that made most people step back. But Louis, being a pure-blood alpha, had always been taller, broader... naturally dominant in a way that felt almost unfair.

And Alexander?

He was like me.

Not born with Louis’s impossible genetics, but trained into strength — sharp, controlled, disciplined. Built from effort, not heritage.

Still, he was a bit bigger than me.

Enough that the shirt would hang loose around my chest and fall past my hips in a way that felt—

Intimate.

Too intimate.

I reluctantly pulled it over my head.

It slipped on easily.

Fit comfortably at the shoulders.

Fell just a little too low at the sleeves.

Not drowning me.

Not swallowing me.

Just... bigger enough to remind me it wasn’t mine.

I clicked my tongue.

"When did you get broader than me? I swear you weren’t this size before."

From the kitchen, he replied instantly:

"Louis hit pure-blood growth. I hit military training. You’re still an alpha. You’re not small."

I froze.

He always had this way of shutting down my insecurities before they fully formed.

"You used to be thinner," he added, stepping halfway into the doorway, eyes briefly scanning me in his shirt. "You’ve filled out. A lot."

The way he said it made heat crawl up my neck.

I scoffed. "So I look good?"

His eyes flicked away. Too fast.

"You look fine. Now hurry up before your food burns."

But as he turned, I caught it — that tiny twitch of his jaw, that soft swallow.

Alexander noticed.

He always noticed.

And now he’d seen me in his clothes...

and I wasn’t sure how to feel about how much he liked it.