“I ate before coming home,” Mia answered quietly. Then, after a pause, she added politely, “Mr. Graves… do you want something to eat?”
“No,” Alexander replied at once. “I ate too.”
Mia gave a small nod in response. Just a brief acknowledgment before she turned away.
She walked toward the bedroom, her steps unhurried. Alexander hesitated for half a second, then followed instinctively, entering the room right after her.
The bedroom was noticeably smaller than the one at his place.
The walls felt closer, the ceiling lower. There was no luxury, only what was necessary. Alexander’s gaze moved slowly around the room.
A few small items were arranged on the bedside table. A suitcase sat near the corner, still half-open, its zipper undone. Clothes were folded neatly on a chair—not put away, just placed there for now.
She hadn’t fully settled in yet.
The room felt bare. Unfinished. Cold.
It didn’t feel likeheryet—and that bothered him more than he expected.
Alexander sat down on the bed without thinking. His hand reached out, grabbed her pillow, and before he could stop himself, he buried his face into it and inhaled deeply.
The scent hit him instantly.
A slow, genuine smile curved his lips.
Mia stopped moving.
She turned slightly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”
Alexander stiffened, realizing how it must look. He cleared his throat and set the pillow back, trying—and failing—to look casual.
“It smells like you,” he said quietly.
Mia didn’t respond.
She walked to the dressing table, took off her earrings, and placed them down. Alexander watched her closely, his eyes tracing every familiar gesture, every habit he’d memorized without realizing it.
“When will you come back home?” he asked softly.
“Thisismy home,” she replied calmly, without turning to look at him.
The words struck harder than she probably intended.
Alexander’s expression darkened immediately, a shadow passing over his eyes. But he didn’t push. He swallowed it down and stayed silent, watching as she removed her jacket and set it aside.
“I won’t bother you much,” he said after a moment. “I promise. I’ll leave in the morning.”
Mia didn’t answer.
Her silence unsettled him more than anything else.
He could handle anger. Even hatred. But this quiet distance gnawed at him relentlessly. He hated it when she didn’t speak to him, when she didn’t even look his way, as if his presence no longer mattered enough to acknowledge.
The warmth in her voice, the way her eyes used to follow him, the way her voice softened whenever she spoke to him—had vanished overnight.
And that indifference scraped at his nerves.
It made him restless, irritated, his chest tight with a frustration he didn’t know how to release. Because anger meant she still cared. Silence meant she might already be gone.
