13. Alex
I hadn’t slept, not for a second. And it wasn’t because of guilt or regret, those weren’t things I wasted on people who didn’t matter.
No, I was awake because I was running through my next move, turning it over in my head, calculating.
I replayed it all, piece by piece, adjusting where needed, fixing what could break. Anticipating what she’d do before she even knew it herself.
By the time the sun came up, I already had the next few moves mapped out.
Josephine was just… part of the plan now.
I headed downstairs, Aisling was already in the kitchen, waiting like clockwork with my cup of coffee. I took it without a word, the heat seeping into my palm.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked.
“Josephine is here. Make hers first.” I took a sip of coffee, its bitterness grounding me, “She’ll be down soon.”
Aisling scrunched her face, her distaste barely concealed, “What do you think the princess wants?”
“Just make what she had last time,” I replied, my voice flat.
Aisling muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to catch it but not care, “Am I supposed to remember what she ate last time?”
I leveled her with a look that shut her up immediately, “Scrambled eggs with toast. A few strawberries and blueberries. Coffee with milk and sugar. Cut the crust off the bread, she pulled them off herself last time.”
Aisling grunted, nodding begrudgingly, “And you? Poached eggs. Smoked salmon and avocado?"
“Sure,” I said, not bothering to look at her as I took another sip of my coffee. She nodded, retreating to the kitchen with a quiet huff.
Just as the silence returned, I heard the soft sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
Josephine.
They grew louder as she approached, until she appeared in the doorway of the dining room, standing there like she was waiting for something.
She was wearing one of my t-shirts, the hem skimming just below her ass, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. Her eyes were skeptical, watching me like she was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.
I pushed my chair back, gesturing for her to come closer. She immediately smiled and walked over to, when she reached me, I pulled her down into my lap, her legs tucked neatly between mine, her back pressed against my chest.
I ran my hand over her damp hair, my fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. There was something about her warmth, the softness of her skin, that made me forget for a moment that I wasn’t supposed to care.
I wrapped my other arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling her relax ever so slightly. My fingers traced the hem of my shirt on her thigh, brushing against her skin.
I ran my thumb over her jawline, and turned her head to the side so that she'd look at me.
Josephine shifted in my lap, her legs still between mine, her side now pressed to my chest, “What’s our relationship now?” she asked, “What do we call this after what happened last night? I don't want you disappearing on me again.”
I stared at her for a moment, almost amused by the question. There she was, sitting in my lap, wrapped up in my shirt, asking about labels like this was something normal.
“Labels already?”
Her lips twitched, “I mean, yeah? That’s kind of how it works.”
I leaned in slightly, my voice lowering, “Isn’t ‘girlfriend’ just a polite way of saying a man owns you?”
Her eyebrows shot up, and she huffed out a laugh, “Owns me? Seriously? What are you, from the Stone Age?”
“Maybe,” I said calmly, “Didn’t seem like you had a problem with it last night.”
Her lips curled into a smile, small at first, but it grew. She didn’t even say anything, just let it sink in. But I could feel the shift in her, like something had clicked.
"Okay, so we're exclusive..." she whispered, her voice soft, almost teasing.
I gave her a single nod.
She bit her lower lip, and then leaned in closer, her face inches from mine. She placed a hand on my cheek and I didn’t stop her. I knew exactly what was coming next.
Our lips met, soft at first, just testing the waters, but it didn’t take long for it to deepen. For her to press closer, for me to pull her tighter against me. Her hands slid up, gripping the nape of my neck, and my grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her skin.
She tasted sweet, a little too innocent for someone like me but there was no turning back now. Her breath hitched when I bit down on her lower lip.
When I finally pulled back, her eyes were half-lidded, her lips swollen, and she was breathing heavily. But she didn’t look scared, if anything she looked relieved.
“You’re mine now,” I muttered.
She looked up at me, her eyes clear, focused, “I know,” she whispered, her lips still brushing against mine.
I let out a slow breath, heavier than I expected. “I’m not an easy man to live with.”
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she nudged her nose against mine, a soft, absentminded gesture that felt far too intimate, “Yeah?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips, “Well… I’ll figure you out. I mean, it can’t be that impossible, right? People aren’t puzzles without answers.”
She paused, studying my face like she was already trying.
“And for the record,” she added lightly, “I’m not exactly easy to live with either. I overthink, I get stubborn, I probably talk too much—” a quiet breath of a laugh slipped out of her, “—so, honestly, you might be the one who needs the warning.”
Just then, Aisling came out of the kitchen with the food, setting it on the table with a clatter that made Josephine glance over, her body tensing like she was going to move. My grip tightened around her waist before she could even think about it. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“With the crust cut off,” Aisling said, her tone dry, giving me a look as she backed away, “Just the way the princess likes it.”
Josephine blinked, frowning, “I never told her I don’t like the crusts.”
“I did,” I said, my eyes fixed on her face.
She turned her head back to me, surprise written all over her features, “How did you know?”
“You picked them off the last time you were here,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, caught off guard, “You noticed that?”
I nodded once, “I notice everything about you.”
Her gaze softened a little, almost like she didn’t know what to make of me.
"Eat," I told her.
She hesitated, "Should I... move to another chair?"
I shook my head slowly, the corner of my mouth curving just slightly, "No. Stay. You look good right where you are," my hand rested on her thigh, "Eat."
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, but she didn’t argue. She picked up her fork and started eating. I didn’t touch my food. I just watched her, watched the way she ate, how her breath caught every time my hand moved even slightly. How she smiled at me every two seconds.
She didn’t know—couldn’t know—just how much her life was about to change. She ate, oblivious, sweet. And I just sat there, watching, knowing everything she was about to lose, everything she was about to become.
Looking at her, I felt nothing.
No pity.
No soft spot.
No hesitation.
Her family deserved this.
And she was the price they were going to pay.
The mirrored walls reflected back a version of me that looked like I could conquer the world, my hair pulled back into a sleek bun, dark red lipstick perfectly applied, and not a hint of the shit Tristan had put me through last night.
Inside the elevator, I tapped my nails against the metal railing, my mind already shifting gears.
Today wasn’t just another day of emails and meetings.
I had bigger things on my plate. We were finalizing the next phase of our renewable energy project, a major partnership with an offshore wind farm in Europe.
It was a make-or-break moment for EcoNova. Everyone here saw me as another Helena Van Alen but that wasn't true. I was determined to show everyone, including her, that I was not her, I was not here to babysit her legacy. I was here to build my own.
When the elevator doors slid open onto the executive floor, my assistant, Mia, was already waiting with my schedule in hand.
“Morning, Ms. Van Alen. The board meeting starts in fifteen,” Mia said, handing me a tablet, “Also, Mr. Noah Smith’s assistant confirmed that he’s available for the call at noon to discuss the investment proposal.”
Noah.
I’d been avoiding his calls for days now, not in the mood to play nice with a slimy investor who thought his money gave him permission to act like a creep. He was useful, though, and that meant I had to suck it up. For now. Until the board deems me fit to take over the company from my mother.
I skimmed through the agenda on the tablet, already mentally adjusting a few items, “Tell legal team, I need them on standby for the call. I want everything locked down before Noah can even blink. Also, have RD send me a full report on the prototype updates for the solar grid. I’m meeting with production this afternoon, and I need to know where they’re at. ”
Mia nodded, jotting everything down, “Got it. Oh, and the CEO of GreenWave Solutions sent flowers again. Third time this month.”
I rolled my eyes, “Tell him thanks and donate them to a shelter. If he asks, say I’m allergic.”
Mia smirked, “Cold.”
“Efficient,” I corrected. “Now, let’s go.”
With Mia trailing behind me, I made my way toward the boardroom. The entire executive team was already seated inside, waiting for me.
I stepped into the room, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a countdown. Every conversation died the second I entered. I didn’t say anything at first, just walked to the other end of the table, took my seat, and crossed my legs. My gaze swept across the room.
My mother looked up from her tablet. I could already feel her preparing one of those withering glares she was famous for.
“You’re late, Josephine,” she said smoothly.
I sat back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. “No,” I replied evenly, “I’m on time.”
A flicker of tension moved through the room.
“We’ve already begun discussing the offshore wind project,” she continued. “Your delay—”
“The timeline hasn’t changed,” I said calmly, not raising my voice. “Unless something material has shifted in the last fifteen minutes?”
The CFO, Mr. Laurent, cleared his throat. “No material changes,” he admitted. “We were reviewing compliance exposure.”
“Good,” I said, turning my attention toward him. “Then we’re still working with the same constraints,” I tapped once on the table, pulling the room in, “The deal is stalling and not because of the market.”
My mother’s gaze sharpened, “Those compliance clauses are there for a reason.”
“I agree,” I said easily. “Some of them are but not all of them.”
I slid my tablet across the table, the screen lighting up with marked documents.
“Legal reviewed this last night. Four clauses can be removed without increasing liability in any meaningful way.”
The head of legal, Ms. Chen, straightened slightly. “That’s… accurate,” she said, “With the right safeguards in place.”
“Which we already have,” I added.
Mr. Laurent leaned forward, “Reducing those clauses would accelerate the signing timeline,” he said, thinking out loud, “But it does expose us slightly more on the regulatory side.”
“‘Slightly’ being the key word,” I said, meeting his gaze, “And right now, speed matters more than theoretical exposure.”
Across the table, one of the board members shifted, “GreenWave is already positioning themselves for a similar deal,” he said.
“Exactly,” I replied, glancing at him, “And they’re not hesitating.”
My mother leaned forward, fingers lacing together on the table, “And you think rushing into an agreement is the solution?”
“I think waiting is how we lose it,” I said simply.
Silence settled again but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was attentive.
“I’m not suggesting we ignore risk,” I continued, “I’m suggesting we stop letting it dictate every decision we make.”
Ms. Chen nodded slightly, “If we restructure the agreement carefully, we can mitigate most of the added exposure.”
“And from a financial standpoint,” Mr. Laurent added, “closing this deal sooner would significantly strengthen our position going into the next quarter.”
That did it. I let that sit for a second before speaking again.
“We can have a revised agreement ready by tomorrow morning,” I said. “Legal finalizes the adjustments, finance reviews the projections, and we move forward by the end of the week,” I looked around the table, “If anyone sees a better alternative, I’m open to hearing it.”
No one spoke and my gaze returned to my mother. Her jaw was tight, her expression controlled but I could see it. She felt it too.
The shift.
“Then we move forward,” I said and stood, gathering my tablet, “Legal, I’ll be in my office in ten. We’ll finalize the revisions.”
Ms. Chen nodded immediately.
“Finance, I want updated projections by this afternoon.”
Mr. Laurent gave a short, sharp nod.
I turned toward the door.
Behind me, one of the board members let out a quiet breath. “Well,” he murmured, “that certainly clarified things.”
“Good,” I said lightly. “That was the point.”
And then I walked out.
I was halfway through an email, trying to ignore the constant pulse in my temple when a knock came at the door. Before I could respond, the door swung open. My mother stepped inside, uninvited, just like she always did as if my space was merely an extension of hers.
She wore a deep navy suit tailored so perfectly it could’ve been painted on, not a single strand of her golden hair was out of place.
"Josie," she said.
"Good morning to you too," I muttered, not even bothering to look up from my laptop.
My mother ignored the sarcasm, stepping further into the room and closing the door with a click. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs and staring at her.
"You’ve been off lately," she said, folding her arms across her chest, "Is everything okay?"
"I’m fine," I replied flatly.
"You don’t look fine."
"Well, that's just how my face looks, Mom."
Her lips thinned, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her purse and gave me the kind of assessing look that made my skin crawl.
"And Tristan Kincaid?" she asked coolly.
My stomach clenched at the way his name sounded coming out of her mouth. I kept my face neutral, but inside I wanted to snap, "What about him?"
Her expression didn’t change, still that perfect scowl, "You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. I assume things are getting… serious."
I tilted my head, locking eyes with her, "They are."
Her jaw tightened, but she covered it quickly, smoothing a hand over her sleeve, "I see."
There was a long, awkward pause, her way of letting me know she wasn’t thrilled. I didn’t care. In fact, I liked that it bothered her. Tristan wasn’t what she wanted for me, and that was exactly why I wanted him more.
"I’d like to meet him... properly," she said finally, "Invite him to dinner."
I blinked at her, thrown off for a second. Mom never invited anyone to dinner, especially not someone she disapproved of. This wasn’t an olive branch, it was a trap. She wanted to inspect him, interrogate him, find every flaw and weakness and then use it against me.
"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, "So you can tear him apart with a steak knife?"
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Because you’re my daughter, Josephine. That matters to me more than anything, more than this company, more than anything else."
I snorted, "Since when?"
Her eyes flickered with something, anger, frustration, guilt but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same indifferent mask.
"I want to make things right between us," she said quietly, as if those words didn’t taste bitter coming from her.
"Right," I scoffed, "You mean like how you tried to make things right by hiring a man to play boyfriend for three years without telling me?"
Helena’s nostrils flared slightly, but she didn’t rise to the bait, "That’s in the past, Josephine."
"Not for me, it isn’t."
Her gaze hardened, her voice cooling to ice, "If Mr. Kincaid is your future than I'd like to be a part of it as well."
"I’ll invite him," I said.
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, the smallest sign of defeat, "Fine. Tomorrow at eight."
"Fine," I echoed.
Helena gave a tight nod, turned on her heel, and strode toward the door. Just before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder with a smile, "Don’t be late."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me in the silence of my office. I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair, still seething from the conversation.
Tristan's face popped into my mind, his eyes, his hands on me, the way he made me forget everything, even her. No matter what Mom thought or said, I have never been happier than I was with Tristan and that was all that mattered right now.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the phone in my hand. Talking about Tristan always did this to me, made me miss him more than I realized.
So, I did what I always do when I miss him. I called him.
The phone rang, once... twice... and then he picked up on the third ring.
For a moment, there was nothing, just the sound of his breathing, heavy and strained like he’d been running. I furrowed my brow, shifting in my chair.
“Tristan?” I said, biting my lip.
“Josephine,” he finally answered in a really rough voice.
It was like he’d just rolled out of bed, only it was midday, and Tristan didn’t nap.
“You okay?”
“Gym,” he replied.
That’s when I heard it, a strange crackling sound in the background, followed by a deep, pained groan.
“Uh… what was that?” I asked, forcing out a small laugh.
“Nothing,” he replied, a little too quickly. “I’m at the gym, Josephine. People make noise.”
I nodded, “Is it like one of those crazy gym accidents? You know, the kind where people drop weights on their feet and then have to be rushed to the ER?” I winced at the thought, “God, that sounds awful. Tell me it’s not that.”
There was a brief pause on his end, and I could almost picture him standing there, probably wiping sweat from his brow, looking down at his phone with the look he always gave me when he thought I was being ridiculous.
The kind that made me feel like a little kid pestering him with endless questions.
“Josephine,” his voice had that edge to it now, like he was ending the conversation whether I liked it or not, “What did you call me for?”
I smiled widely, “I miss you. That’s why I called. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He didn’t say anything right away, but I could hear him breathing.
“I’ve been having the shittiest day, and I need to hear your voice to, like, calm me down.”
“Shittiest day?” he sounded like he was distracted, like his attention was elsewhere.
“Yeah,” I groaned, leaning my head back and closing my eyes, “It's my mom, I just want to punch her sometimes. Or—wait, no—I’ll have you punch her for me. You’re stronger anyway.”
There was another pause. Then a chuckle. This time, it was real, warm, and it sent a little thrill down my spine. Tristan didn’t laugh often, and when he did, it felt like a victory.
“You want me to punch your mom?” he asked, still sounding amused.
I laughed, the sound a little too loud, but I couldn’t help it, “Okay, no, maybe not. That’s probably a terrible idea. You'd kill her with a single punch.”
“If it makes your life easier, I’m tempted,” he said.
I laughed, shaking my head, “She’s like… the Terminator in heels. Trust me, you don’t want that fight. I’m trying to survive her, and I’m her daughter.”
A low hum of agreement from his end.
I huffed, crossing my arms. “You’re no fun today, you know that? I was hoping for some sweet words, maybe a little... I miss you too, Josie.”
He let out another chuckle, softer this time. “I miss you.”
“Was that so hard?” I teased, grinning to myself. “Now say it like you mean it.”
“Josephine,” he murmured, “I do miss you. Always.”
I giggled like a little girl, “Well, I just realized I forgot to tell you something,” I said, twirling a pen between my fingers, “My mom invited us to dinner.”
I cleared my throat, trying to fill the silence.
“Yeah, I know, weird, right? She never does this. It’s probably some kind of power play, honestly. I mean, you know how she is. She’s probably gonna grill you about all sorts of things, try to figure out why someone like you is with someone like me—”
“Josephine,” he cut in softly, and I realized I’d been rambling.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll be there.”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, “You want me there, right?”
“Well… yeah,” I admitted, blinking in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. “But I figured you’d be… I don’t know, hesitant?”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” he said.
I could picture him right now—probably leaning against something, all beautiful haunting eyes and dark hair falling all over his forehead. I wanted to ask what he meant by "worse," but something told me I didn’t want the answer.
“Well… okay then,” I said, “Tomorrow at eight.”