Page 109 of This Life of Mine

“Lina, stay where you are, love.”

She doesn’t move. Shock roots her in place as the truth crashes in all at once. Someone was here, inside her home.

The intruder keeps his cheek pressed to the floor, but his eyes cut up to meet mine.

I tighten my grip on his twisted arm to remind him this is over.

Whoever sent this man made a shattering mistake. Because they didn’t only fail—they revealed themselves. And now, this ends.

I throw one knockout punch.

The intruder goes still, his body slackening as consciousness slips away. I breathe through the adrenaline, steadying myself before it has a chance to turn reckless.

I turn to Lina.

“Lina…please stay there,” I say gently but firmly. “Let me secure him and clean up the glass.”

She nods, eyes wide, arms wrapped around herself. Shock has turned her quiet.

I sit across from the intruder and gently pat his face to wake him.

When he does, it’s slow and disoriented. A groan. A shift. His eyes flutter open—and lock onto me. Then widen.

I’m seated facing him, elbows resting on my knees, posture relaxed in a way that tells him how much ground he’s lost.

He tests his restraints once. Fails.

It’s rope from Lina’s garage. Thick, practical. The kind you buy for utility, not imprisonment.

I used it without thinking—muscle memory taking over—looping it tight around his wrists, anchoring him to the dining chair, binding the legs to make movement pointless but circulation intact. No wasted slack.

The chair itself is solid oak. Heavy. Not meant to be moved easily.

“When I get loose you’re fucking dead.” he says, voice hoarse.

I nod my head. Calm. Assessing.

“I highly doubt that,” I say evenly.

His gaze flicks down again, tracking the rope, the chair, the space that lies between us. Understanding arrives in stages—confusion first, then fear.

Good. I don’t rush him.

His gaze flicks past me, then lands on Lina in the corner. Fear. Not for her, but because he understands now that this went very wrong.

Lina swallows. “Alex, we should call the police.”

“Not yet, love,” I say gently.

The intruder lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “You’re making a big fucking mistake.”

I turn my head slightly. “Am I?”

I lean back slightly, giving him room to talk—or hang himself.

“Who sent you?” I ask.

Silence. I wait.