25. Alex Sebring
Chapter 25
Alex Sebring
Her apartment door clicks shut behind us, and she tosses her keys into a small bowl on a table by the door. I take in my surroundings, every inch of the space marked by Magnolia’s touch. I’ve never been here before, but somehow, it’s familiar—like stepping into a place I’ve known all along.
It smells like her, that same soft, feminine scent that clung to my bedding long after she was gone. It messes with my head more than I want to admit.
Without a word, I pull my bag from my shoulder, unzip it, and take out the leather-bound journal, tossing it onto the coffee table. The soft thud echoes in the room louder than I expected.
“Figured you might want this back. It’s a great work of fiction. You should publish it.”
She stills as her eyes drop to the journal, something flickering in them.
What is that? Hurt?
No, can’t be.
She lifts her chin, lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Does that mean you finally got around to reading it?”
“I read it. Took everything I had in me to get through it, but I did.”
Her chin quivers as she folds her arms. “I’m sorry that giving you a piece of my heart turned out to be such a hassle for you.”
Nah, I won’t allow her to pin this on me like I’m the bad guy. “I have severe dyslexia.”
Placing my hands on my hips, I stare at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. Shame creeps in, the same old insecurities clawing their way to the surface. “I wanted to read the whole thing the day you gave it to me. But I couldn’t because I’m not able to.”
My chest tightens, and I force out the words I hate admitting. “Even at thirty-three-fucking-years-old, I still struggle to read a damn sentence.”
“Alex.” The softness in her voice almost undoes me. “I didn’t know.”
“Because I hid it from you.” I shrug, trying to make it seem insignificant, like a reading disorder isn’t something that has shaped my entire life every damn day.
She studies me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t tell anyone unless I have to.” A humorless chuckle escapes me, and I shake my head. “Doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?”
“I wasn’t just anyone.” Her voice splinters, and she clears her throat. “At least that’s what I thought.”
The journal sits between us, a tangible reminder of everything we were—everything we lost. And it kills me.
I turn away from Magnolia… because it just hurts so damn much to look at her.
My gaze drifts around the room, soaking it all in. Her apartment looks just like I imagined—elegant in every detail, with a warmth that makes it hers. Sophisticated, but stamped with her imprint in every corner.
It’s very Magnolia.
And there are the photos—dozens of them. Some in frames, others pinned to a wire grid near her desk. Magnolia with Violet, both of them laughing, arms wrapped around each other in a way that speaks of years of friendship. Magnolia with a group of women I don’t recognize, all in dance attire, mid-pose and beaming.
But the one that stops me cold is a picture of us. Me and Magnolia. Together.
It’s a shot of us in Sydney—her tucked under my arm, grinning up at me like I’d hung the damn moon. I remember that day, the way she laughed at something ridiculous I said, the way I kissed the top of her head without thinking twice.
What kind of man lets his girlfriend, or fuck buddy, keep a photo like this out in the open? What kind of guy is fine with a constant reminder of her ex?
My focus shifts, and that’s when I see it—a basket in the corner, filled with rolled-up Samoan mats, one half-finished and draped over the edge like she abandoned it mid-weave. Next to it, a shelf stacked with books about Samoa and its culture. A map of the islands hangs on the wall, surrounded by small artifacts that are too specific to be mere decoration.
I step closer, my brows pulling together. “What’s all this?”
She glares at me, silent.
“Tell me, Magnolia.”
“What do you think it is?”
My eyes move over the intricate patterns on the mat, the careful stitching she did by hand. “I don’t know.”
I’m confused.
Her fingers brush over the half-finished mat like it’s something precious. “I was immersing myself into the culture of the man I loved.”
Loved . Past tense.
Her hand flattens over the woven strands. “This was going to be a gift for your birthday. Because in Samoan culture, when you give someone a mat you’ve made with your own hands, it’s not just a gift. It’s a piece of yourself—something sacred, something you only give when it truly matters.”
I’m lost for words. The weight of it, the care, the meaning—it’s too much.
It hurts.
Magnolia clears her throat. “I need a drink. Do you want one?”
I huff out a short laugh, relieved by the distraction. “Yeah. I’ll take a double of whatever you’re having.” I meet her eyes, letting the corner of my mouth lift. “Hell, make mine a triple.”
A hint of a smirk flickers across her lips before she turns toward the bar cart in the corner. “This reunion is worthy of a tall one, don’t you agree?”
“Understatement.”
She moves, graceful and deliberate, pulling out a bottle of bourbon and taking out the ingredients. The familiarity—the way she measures, stirs, and pours with practiced ease—takes me straight back to that day on the yacht.
The ice clinks against the glass as she hands me the drink, her fingers brushing mine. Even that slight, fleeting contact sends a jolt through me, a stark reminder of just how long it’s been since I’ve touched her.
“Old-fashioned just the way you like it.”
The amber liquid burns its way down my throat. “Still the best I’ve ever had.”
Hell, she’s still the best I’ve ever had.
“Glad to hear that I’ve still got that special touch.”
We sit in silence, both sipping. Both avoiding.
The drink goes down easy—too easy. The burn barely registers before I’m tipping back the glass again, draining it faster than I should. But fuck it. After everything, it’s warranted. The last swallow hits hard, and I set the empty glass down with a dull thud.
Magnolia arches a brow. “You slammed that.”
I lean back, running my hands through the top of my hair. “Long day.”
She hums in agreement, staring down at her drink. “A long day? Hell, it’s been a long six months.”
I’m not sure what she means by that, but I’m not confused about what it’s meant for me––six long fucking months of trying to erase her from my skin, my mind, my soul—and failing at every turn.
“Are you at least happy?”
Magnolia’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing with something sharp… something that looks a lot like anger.“Why would you ask me that?”
I shift forward, elbows digging into my knees. “Why wouldn’t I ask?”
She glares at me. “How could I be happy?”
“Because you’re the one who called the shots. You moved on, commitment free, just like you wanted.”
Her eyes widen, disbelief flickering into something closer to outrage. She slams her drink down with a sharp clink, and delivers a scowl that hits somewhere deep, tightening everything inside me. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t moved on. Not even a little bit.”
My brain scrambles, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of this conversation.
If she hasn’t moved on, then what the hell has all of this been for?
I’m so fucking lost.
It’s like we’re speaking two different languages—living two different stories—and for the first time, I’m not sure what’s real anymore.
“Are you happy?” Magnolia spits the words out, sharp and bitter, her eyes flashing with a fury I’ve never seen in her before.
“Am I happy?” I bark out a humorless laugh, the sound scraping my throat. “How the fuck am I supposed to be happy?”
“Because you fucking got what you wanted!” Her chest heaves with the force of her frustration, shoulders tense and trembling.
“What is it you think I want?!”
“You found the one . You’re getting married… and I’m sure a house full of perfect little Samoan babies won’t be far behind. Congratulations.”
Her words hit me like a freight train. “I don’t know where you got that from, but it’s not true. Not even close.”
I can’t make sense of the pieces scattered between us, but I’m certain of one thing straight away—someone has poisoned her against me.
“Who told you I was getting married?”
No hesitation. “Tyson McRae.”
The name slams into me like a wrecking ball, hollowing me out and lighting me up at the same time.
My hands clench into fists, every muscle in my body wired tight, rage rising.
“When did you talk to that fucker?”
“He’s my client. I talk to him almost every day.”
“Your what ?”
There aren’t words in existence that describe my state of mind.
“You’re working with that bastard?”
“I own a business, and he’s a paying client. My only client. My rent gets paid and there’s food on my table because of him.”
I shoot up, dragging my hands through my hair, trying to process what I’m hearing.
This isn’t a coincidence. Tyson McRae didn’t just wander into Magnolia’s life at random, needing a designer. No—this has calculation written all over it.
There is some fuckery afoot here.
“I told you how much Tyson hates me. How could you believe anything that came out of his mouth about me?”
A whisper slips from her lips— “Shit” —so soft I almost miss it over the pounding in my ears. Her eyes squeeze shut, like she’s trying to block out the mistake she’s just realized she made. A shaky breath escapes her, and when she lifts her gaze to mine again, the fury is gone, replaced by something raw and aching.
“You aren’t marrying anyone?”
“No. Of course not.”
She covers her mouth with shaking fingers, her gaze locked on mine like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Oh my God, Alex.”
She sees it now. She knows the truth.
We’re standing here, both gutted, both raw—and somehow, we’re not part of the same story.
I pull my phone from my pocket and go to the last message from her. “Did you send this breakup text to me?”
She takes my phone, eyes widening. “I did not send this to you.”
The shit just keeps getting deeper.
“I called you the second I saw this message. I must’ve called you a thousand times, Magnolia. No answer. Straight to default voicemail every time. No replies to my texts, nothing. You disappeared on me.”
“Oh fuck.” If regret had a face, this would be it. “I blocked you.”
Disbelief floods through me. “Why would you do that?”
She fetches her phone from her purse and begins reading. “This relationship isn’t working for me. I’ve had time to think about this, and I’ve made some decisions. I need a woman in my bed every night. My sex drive can’t handle the distance between us. If I don’t end this relationship now, I’ll end up cheating on you, and I don’t want to hurt you in that way. I need a woman who’s wife material. And that isn’t you. Don’t call or text me again. That would only make this worse. This relationship is over.”
She looks up from her phone, her voice shaking at the edges. “I called you. Over and over. After I got that message, it was obvious you’d blocked me. So I blocked you back.”
How could she believe I’d do that? “I didn’t send that message. I would never say those things to you, not in a million years. And I never blocked you.”
Her laugh is short, bitter. “I called your office when you wouldn’t answer. Courtney told me you wouldn’t take my calls.”
My stomach drops. “Courtney said that to you?”
She nods. “Yeah. And she wasn’t polite about it either. After that… I blocked you for good.”
Fucking Courtney. What has she been up to? I’m mad as hell I have to tell Leilani she was right about her.
“I never told her not to put your calls through. Not once.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she fumbles with her phone, unlocking it with shaking fingers. “I’m unblocking you and calling you right now.”
We listen in tense silence.
No ring. It dumps straight to voicemail.
“That’s what it started doing after I got your breakup text.”
I drag a hand through my hair, groaning. “Let me say it again, favorite, I didn’t send you a breakup text or block you.”
Her eyes snap to mine, something raw flashing through them.
For a beat, something flickers—something soft—and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. It’s not much, but I catch it. And in that sliver of a moment, I see the shift––the part of her that still knows me.
She blinks hard, shoving the emotion down, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.
“Show me your blocked numbers.”
I hand my phone to her, a sharp breath escaping her lips. “That’s my number… blocked.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it cuts me down to the bone.
“I didn’t do this.” My voice is rough, desperate. “I swear to you. I don’t have a clue how this happened.”
Her eyes, wide and wounded, lift to mine.
“Show me my contact in your phone.”
I hand over my phone without hesitation, offering her full access—proof I have nothing to hide. She wastes no time navigating to my contacts, her fingers sure even though her hands are still shaking.
After a beat, she stiffens. “Alex… the number saved under my name isn’t mine.”
Ice crawls through my veins. “What? It has to be.”
She turns the screen toward me. “It’s not even a U.S. number… it’s Australian.”
I stare at the screen, my mind racing to make sense of what I’m seeing. “I didn’t change your number.”
“Well, someone did.”
A thick, stunned silence settles between us.
Magnolia’s hand tightens around the phone as she looks back up at me, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t reach you because my number was blocked. And even if I hadn’t blocked you, you still wouldn’t have been able to reach me—because whoever did this changed my number in your phone.”
The full weight of it crashes down on me like a landslide—violent, unstoppable.
Someone did this, plotted this, wanted us torn apart.
“This isn’t a tech glitch. Someone made sure we lost each other. Someone who had access to your life and your phone.”
The pieces lock into place with brutal clarity, and anger crawls under my skin, hot and sharp. “Yeah. They did.”
Her eyes widen with something that looks a lot like realization. “Someone leaked your emails to Celeste. Stands to reason they had access to your texts as well.”
“I got rid of my personal assistant. The texts would’ve happened long after she was gone.” Was I wrong about her? Was she telling the truth when she denied leaking the emails?
A sharp bitterness rises in my throat. “My texts sync to my work computer. If someone got into it, they could’ve sent the breakup text.”
Magnolia shakes her head, her brows knitting together. “To change my contact number, they would’ve needed access to your actual phone. Once they swapped the number, they controlled everything. They could send messages that looked like they came from me—and send you ones I never even wrote.”
She’s right. And the worst part? My carelessness made it easy for them.
I’m not a guy who’s glued to his phone. I leave it lying around—on my desk, Courtney’s desk, the conference room, the break room. Hell, just last week, it went missing for a whole day before we found it.
Self-loathing simmers just beneath my skin. I made it too easy. I was too trusting, too distracted. And now all I can do is sit here and face the wreckage of what I allowed happen.
“It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to grab it while it was unlocked and swap your number.”
The reality of it crashes down, the guilt running deep.
“I never checked your number. Never thought to. Hell, favorite—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I haven’t memorized your number, so I wouldn’t have noticed when someone changed it even if I had looked.”
“I never memorized yours either. There was no need because your contact was saved in my phone. People don’t do that these days, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Maybe not but the guilt gnaws at me. I trusted all the wrong people. And now we’re left standing in the wreckage, sifting through the pieces of everything we lost.
“Who in your life would’ve done this to us?”
“Two people come to mind—Celeste and Tyson. But apparently Courtney played a role as well. I’m not sure what that means.”
For a long moment, all she does is stare at her hands, like the words she needs are hiding somewhere in the lines of her palms.
“Alex.” Her voice cracks when she says my name. “I didn’t let you go.”
My heart fractures all over again. “I didn’t let you go either.”
We’ve been pacing the floor, pushing each other’s boundaries, testing old wounds. Now, side by side on the sofa, there’s nowhere left to run.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.
We just sit there, caught in the weight of everything we’ve lost—months of heartache, anger, confusion—all because of someone’s twisted interference.
I’ve loved Magnolia from the second I laid eyes on her, and if it’s possible, I love her even more now. Maybe because I experienced what life looks like without her in it—and I know I can’t survive it again.
But I need to know the truth.
The question burns my throat on the way out. “What is going on between you and McRae?”
Her entire body tenses at the sound of his name. “Tyson McRae is the last thing I want to talk about right now.”
My blood roars in my veins. “I don’t want to have this conversation either. But I won’t give that fucker the satisfaction of twisting the knife. Tell me the truth—have you fucked him?”
Her head snaps back. “No, Alex! I haven’t fucked him.”
Relief slams into me, fierce and fast—but the anger rides its heels. “Did he try?”
Her hesitation is enough to make my blood curdle.
“I need to know what’s happened.”
Magnolia’s hands twist together in her lap. “I’d be lying if I said nothing has happened between us.”
Rage surges under my skin, hot and uncontrollable.
“Fuuuck!” The word rips from my throat as my fist slams into the cushion beside me, rattling the frame of the couch.
Magnolia jolts. “I’m so sorry! I thought we were over and you’d moved on with someone else. That’s what Tyson told me. Think about it from my point of view. I believed you’d broken up with me in one of the cruelest ways possible. And you told me multiple times that you wanted a wife and family. There was no reason for me not to believe him.”
Nothing happened between us . That’s the only right answer. The only one that would let me breathe again. But now my mind is a fucking battlefield, a war zone littered with images I can’t stop seeing.
Fuck.
“What happened between you?”
She opens her mouth—but I lift a hand, cutting her off, the regret already crawling up my throat. “I don’t know if I can hear this.”
A surge of rage shoots through me, and I’m on my feet before I even realize it, pacing across her living room like a caged animal. “Is he in Charleston right now? Because if he is, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to get in line.”
Magnolia pushes off the couch, moving toward the bar cart with clipped, angry steps. She pours herself another drink—heavy, reckless—and tosses it back in one long swallow. The glass hits the cart with a sharp clink.
“What the hell were you thinking? Tyson McRae ?” The words rip out of me, raw and furious. “Even if we were over—you know what kind of man he is. I told you about him.”
“I needed clients, Alex. I had just opened my firm. There was a ton of money going out and nothing coming in. He was a steady paycheck.”
Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t back down. Doesn’t sugarcoat it. She lays it out plainly, like ripping off a bandage neither of us wants to deal with.
“You’ve always had money. You’ve never woken up one morning and lost your financial security. My safety net was gone. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. I was scared.”
Hearing her admit that she was scared hits me harder than anything else tonight. Magnolia Steel doesn’t lean. She doesn’t crumble. She’s always been strong enough to carry the weight of the world on her back without asking for help. Vulnerability isn’t something she wears easily.
And the fact that she’s letting me see it guts me.
“He swooped in the second you were vulnerable and took advantage. Because that’s what he does, Magnolia. That’s all he’s ever done––hurt people.”
She may hate me for this—but she’ll just have to. Because protecting her will always come before keeping the peace.
“You’re done working with him. I don’t care what it costs for you to break the contract. It’s over. Done! And if I have any say in it, you’ll never see him again.”
The words leave my mouth without hesitation, firm and absolute. Over the top and I don’t give a fuck.
But even as I say them, I know Magnolia. She’s independent—and fiery—and she won’t be happy about me telling her how to run her business.
I’d never do that to her without a damn good reason. She’s achieved too much to let someone else make decisions. But this isn’t about control. It’s about survival.
And the threat isn’t some faceless risk—it’s Tyson-ruthless-fucker-McRae.
Magnolia doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. She doesn’t see the calculated moves he makes, the way he always plays the long game. But I do. I know what he is capable of, and I’ll be damned if I let him sink his claws any deeper into her.
She straightens, her chin lifting, but there’s no fire behind it—no true defiance. Only a quiet resignation that twists something deep inside me.
“Let’s be clear about a few things. This is my business. My decision. I decide.”
A beat.
“And I choose to not work with him anymore. He lied to me. I can’t move forward with a client who does that.”
Magnolia Steel has never been a woman to bow to pressure, not even from me. But this time, she doesn’t argue.
“I should’ve never taken him on. But when everything crumbles around you, desperation makes you stupid.”
“You did what you had to do. You were trying to build something for yourself after Soul Sync… after everything fell apart… because of me.”
A crushing pressure builds in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My skin feels too tight. My head’s too full. My heart pounds like it’s trying to crack open my ribs just to escape.
The weight of it all—what we lost, what we uncovered—it’s too much, pressing down on me, threatening to split me wide open.
“I need a minute.”
Magnolia’s head snaps up, confusion flashing across her face. “What?”
The panic in her voice cuts into me like a blade.
“I just need a minute to myself.”
Her hands curl into fists at her sides, her eyes bright with something raw. Something desperate. “No, we just found each other again. You can’t leave. Not now, Alex.”
It guts me. The broken way she says my name feels like she’s handing me her heart all over again. And I’m too weak to even hold it properly.
I can’t breathe.
I claw my hands through my hair, inhaling like I’ve been underwater too long. “There are things you don’t know about me. I understand it makes no sense right now. But I swear to you—I will come back.”
I choke on the next breath. “I just need a second to fucking breathe.”
She blinks, a tear sliding down her cheek, her body trembling like she’s barely holding herself together. “Alex?—”
I can’t stay. If I stay, I’ll shatter.
I turn toward the door, my feet heavy, my lungs burning.
“Alex… where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“When are you coming back?”
A beat of silence that feels like a lifetime.
“I don’t know.”
I open the door and step through it.
The moment it clicks shut behind me, I sag against the wall outside, bracing myself with one hand, my forehead resting against the cool surface.
My chest heaves with the force of it all—the anger, the heartbreak, the love.
Always the love.
Even now, when everything feels like it’s ripping apart, that part never wavers.
I just need a minute to breathe.
A minute to catch my breath and be strong enough to go back in there—to her.
Because walking away from Magnolia Steel has never been an option.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.