I nod. Barely. My legs feel like paper. I take a step back. Then another. The room tilts slightly, and I focus on not folding in on myself in front of this man who just laid my entire life out like a perfectly planned itinerary.
Tyler glances at me, concern etched into every line of his face. I avoid his eyes. I can’t take that look right now. Itake another step back, my chest tightening like something is wrapping itself around my ribs and pulling.
This is too much. Too clean. Too certain. Too perfect.
Too Alexander Petrov.
I turn and walk down the hallway. My steps are uneven. I reach my room and close the door behind me with more force than I intend. My back hits the door, and I slide down, my heart racing like I’ve just run through traffic.
My ears are ringing, no, screaming. A high-pitched buzz that drowns everything out. I fumble for my hearing aids and yank them off, hands trembling. The silence is jarring, but somehow better. Quieter, more muffled, and safer.
I rub hard at my chest like I can physically reach in and calm something down. But nothing quiets. Nothing settles. My head feels like it’s swelling with noise, questions, and disbelief.
What kind of person does this?
What kind of person gives this much without expecting anything in return?
What kind of man… keeps giving like this? Like, I’m someone worth saving?
I grab my phone. Open my inbox.
My fingers hover for only a second. Then I type:We need to talk.
I hit send before I can think too long. Before I can talk myself out of it.
Then I start pacing. Back and forth.
I know it’s him. Of course, it’s him.
He doesn’t just knock on doors. He kicks them in. He doesn’t offer help, he rewrites reality. He doesn’t ask if I need saving, he just pulls me out of the fire and builds me a castle.
What did I do to deserve someone like him?
THIRTY-ONE
ALEXANDER
The private jet hums steadily beneath me, the kind of luxury silence that used to calm me. Now, it just echoes the mess in my head. Aged whisky burns down my throat, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle me.
Daniel’s voice crackles through my AirPods, quiet but sharp.
“He looked nervous,” he says. “Almost… stunned. I think he needs time to process it.”
I stare out the window, watching clouds blur past in the dark. The city lights are faint below us—glittering, untouchable.
“Let him take the time,” I say evenly. “But no pressure. Not from you. Not from anyone.”
“He didn’t reject it,” Daniel adds. “That’s something.”
I nod to myself, jaw tight. “I guess.”
The line clicks off. I pull the AirPods out, set the glass down on the tray beside me, and finally glance down at my phone.
A single message:we need to talk.
Sent thirty minutes ago. No follow-up. No emojis. Just that. Words that land like a fist in my chest. I haven’t replied. Not because I don’t want to, but because I already know what it’s about, and I don’t know if I overstepped.
Across from me, Anton’s typing slows.
