35. Alex Sebring

Chapter 35

Alex Sebring

The clock on my computer ticks past five, and I realize I’ve spent the day shuffling papers, my focus nowhere near my work.

Magnolia and I have only two nights left, and the thought twists painfully in my chest. Each moment feels more fragile than the last, slipping away too fast. But tonight, I’m determined to create a memory she’ll carry with her—a night that’s ours beyond the ticking clock.

I grab my jacket, taking a deep breath as anticipation mingles with the ache in my chest. The plan is set: tickets to Sydney Opera House. Glamorous, unforgettable—the kind of night I hope she’ll think about long after she’s gone.

When I get home, she’s already there, waiting for me in the living room, a vision of beauty. Her dress fits perfectly, understated yet breathtaking, and her hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves. The sight of her steals my breath, the ache of how little time we have left sharpening as I take her in.

“Favorite” —a grin tugs at my lips— “you make Sydney look downright ordinary.”

Her laugh is light and warm, but her eyes hold a quietness that tugs at me, an unspoken heaviness she hasn’t shared.Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes tonight, and while I chalk it up to our looming goodbye, the feeling clings to me. There’s something more beneath the surface.

I press a kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger long enough to savor the warmth of her skin. “I just need a minute to change.”

“Take your time. I’ll try to remember how to breathe when you come back looking like James Bond.”

I chuckle and head to the bedroom, only to find she’s already laid out a suit for me—one that perfectly coordinates with her dress.

I’m going to miss that.

Sliding into the jacket, I take a moment to adjust the crisp tie and smooth the lapels, appreciating the sharp lines and perfect fit. It’s simple, classic—exactly what tonight needs. A quick glance in the mirror confirms it: I’m ready to make this evening unforgettable with my girl.

When I return, her gaze lifts to meet mine, her eyes sweeping over me with obvious appreciation. “Look at you. Sharp suit, perfect tie—you’re definitely giving off Bond vibes.”

I offer my arm. “Well then, my lady, shall we?”

She loops her arm through mine. “Lead the way, 007.”

“If I’m Bond, does that make you Pussy Galore?”

She smirks, eyes flicking over my suit before meeting my gaze. “I am… and I have a thing for well-dressed men.” She steps in closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Though I like them better undressed.”

“You’re quite a girl, Pussy.”

The low rumble of the engine fills the quiet as we ease down the long driveway, the countryside giving way to the twinkle of distant city lights. As we drive toward the opera house, I keep the conversation light, hoping to draw her out of the thoughts that seem to weigh her down.

I cast her a sidelong glance. “You know, there’s still time to ditch this plan and head to the Rabbit Hole.”

She rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I can handle a little culture, big guy.”

For a moment, the Magnolia I know reemerges—sharp-witted, warm, charming. But as the cityscape comes into view, her gaze shifts to the window, her brow faintly furrowed.

I debate asking her what’s on her mind, the question on the tip of my tongue. But I hold back, guessing she’s already consumed by thoughts of what’s coming—leaving Sydney.

Leaving me.

Still, unease gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. There’s more to it than that. I can feel it. I just wish I knew what it was.

The moment we step into the theater, we’re enveloped in an ambience that feels timeless and electric. The space is a blend of grandeur and innovation—ornate carvings adorning the walls stand alongside sleek, modern accents, a marriage of old-world elegance and contemporary flair.

Magnolia’s eyes roam the theater, studying the intricate details. There’s a light in her gaze—a quiet appreciation that makes the moment feel even more special. I nudge her gently, leaning close enough to catch her attention. “I couldn’t let you leave without experiencing this at least once.”

She turns to me, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, this is part of my grand farewell?”

“Had to prove I’m not all G-Wagons and managing hotel spreadsheets.” I lean a little closer. “But don’t expect me to translate the opera for you.”

Her laugh spills out, soft and unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the rest of the world falls away—it’s just her, us, caught in a rare and perfect stillness.

As her laughter fades, something falters in her expression, a tension beneath the surface. It’s subtle, but it pulls at me, a quiet reminder that tonight isn’t just another evening out—it’s one of our last.

As the lights dim further, I lean closer, keeping my voice low. “You’ve been a little quiet tonight.”

Her gaze drops, a thread of hesitation pulling at her composure before she nods. “We’ll talk about it later.”

There’s something unspoken in her words, something she’s not ready to unpack, and though I feel the urge to press, I hold back. Instead, I reach for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the performance begins, letting the moment speak louder than words.

As the lights dim and the first notes of the performance swell through the theater, my focus strays from the stage to Magnolia. Her hand rests lightly on my arm, her fingers tightening enough to tether me to her as the story begins to unfold. I glance at her, catching the wonder in her eyes as she’s drawn into the performance, her expression shifting with the rise and fall of the music.

I watch her, captivated by the way her reactions bring the night to life. Her smiles, her gasps, even the subtle lean forward as she’s swept deeper into the tale—it all pulls at me. This woman will be gone from my life in two days. The thought pierces through the magic of the moment, a bittersweet ache that refuses to be ignored.

I make a half-hearted attempt to focus on the stage, to let the story pull me in, but my attention keeps drifting back to her. She’s all I see, all I feel, a gravity I can’t resist.

And then it hits me so sharply it nearly steals my breath.

I love her so much it aches.

The realization is a storm, equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. She’s become entwined with every part of me, as vital as the air I breathe, and the enormity of it is both overwhelming and undeniable.

As the final notes fade and the applause swells, the curtains close on a performance that’s been nothing short of stunning. My eyes drift back to Magnolia and her expression—soft, awestruck—clutches at something deep inside me.

I’ll miss this.

I’ll miss her.

We stay in our seats as the crowd begins to thin, reluctant to shatter the fragile spell the evening has cast. When we finally get up and make our way through the grand foyer, the buzz of people talking around us feels distant, inconsequential. It’s just the two of us, moving through a world that, for now, belongs only to us.

The crisp night air greets us as we step outside, Sydney sparkling like a postcard come to life. The lights reflect off the water, a kaleidoscope of color and motion, but my attention doesn’t focus on the view. Without hesitation, I reach for her hand, and our fingers lace together naturally as if they were always meant to.

The sounds of the city fade into a distant hum as we walk side by side. The cool breeze brushes against us, but the warmth of her presence is all I notice. Every step feels delicate, the moment too precious to disturb, and all I can think about is how to make it last.

I steal a glance at her, catching a hint of something in her expression—a hesitation, a shadow of a thought she doesn’t mention. But when our eyes meet, she offers me a soft smile, a quiet shield that hides whatever is churning beneath the surface. “It’s a beautiful night.”

I give her hand a gentle squeeze, the warmth of her fingers steadying me even as I wish I could unravel the secrets she keeps locked away. “Sydney’s pulling out all the stops for you.”

Her gaze drifts back to the water, the shimmering lights mirrored on its surface.

“It’s still early. Want to hit the Rabbit Hole? For old times’ sake?”

Her lips twitch, a small smirk breaking through her pensive mood. “That sounds fun… but I wouldn’t mind calling it a night.” As the words leave her mouth, she trails her fingers along my arm, her touch light but deliberate, sending a clear signal.

My pulse quickens and every nerve in my body sharpens, attuned to her—her touch, her tone, the unspoken promise in her eyes. It’s not just desire; it’s the connection between us, magnetic and undeniable.

I nod, keeping her hand firmly in mine as we turn back. It’s a silence that speaks volumes, filled with the things neither of us seems ready to put into words.

I give her hand a squeeze. “Stay at my place tonight?”

She looks up, her eyes warming with a playful gleam that momentarily eases the tension between us. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

Back at the house, we slip into the rhythm that’s become second nature. She kicks off her shoes with a soft sigh, and I pour us each a glass of wine. We settle on the couch, the quiet of the room wrapping around us.

Magnolia’s fingers trail absently along the stem of her glass, her gaze distant, lost in thoughts she hasn’t shared. I wait, giving her the space she seems to need.

“Hey.” I reach out and cover her hand with mine. “What’s on your mind?”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. “There’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin our night, but you need to know.”

My chest tightens. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”

She takes a deep breath, the words seeming to cost her as they leave her lips. “Celeste came to Soul Sync again today. It was during lunch, and I stayed back, so I was alone in the office.”

The protectiveness surges instantly, my hand tightening around hers. “What did she do?”

“She accused me of crossing lines with a client. She even threw around phrases like sleeping with a client and being unprofessional . It was as if she knew everything.”

My jaw clenches, the anger simmering beneath the surface. “She just walked in during work hours and started making accusations?”

Magnolia nods, her gaze lifting to meet mine, worry in her eyes. “She knew things.”

A surge of protectiveness rises within me, unshakable. “What kind of things?”

She hesitates, her breath shaky, her voice trembling enough to cut through me. “Celeste knows you were a client at Soul Sync.”

“No… she couldn’t know.”

“She does, Alex. My coworkers told me she’s Cleopatra.”

What?

Disbelief and realization collide as I draw my brows together. “Cleopatra?” I echo, the name almost foreign in this new context. “The match Soul Sync set up for me?”

Magnolia nods, her expression mirroring the shock twisting in my chest. “Apparently, yes. Celeste was on the other side of the wall the whole time.”

The memories resurface with unsettling clarity as I recall my first meeting with Cleopatra––the cold, detached way she spoke, treating the process more like a strategy session than a genuine search for connection. I remember the clipped tone of her voice, her disinterest in anything personal, and the distinct feeling that I was facing someone entirely unsuited to me, someone who didn’t belong in my world.

Something about her voice had nagged at me—familiar yet off, like an echo from a past I couldn’t quite place. It lacked warmth and carried a calculated precision as if every word was weighed before it left her lips.

And now it all makes sense—the manipulation, the forced interactions. I’d thought the lack of chemistry was the issue. But no, it was Celeste’s nature, her relentless need to control and maneuver everything to her advantage.

Frustration simmers beneath the surface as the pieces refuse to align. “She somehow manipulated the system to match with me.”

Magnolia nods, her brow creased in concentration. “How would she even know you applied to Soul Sync? The whole service is built on privacy—clients are anonymous even to most of the staff.”

“Exactly.” Unease claws at my chest. “Plus, there’s no way she could afford the service on her own. Soul Sync charges a fortune. She does well as an influencer, sure, but this is on another level entirely.”

Magnolia’s lips press into a thin line. “There’s more to this. It doesn’t feel right.”

Whatever Celeste is scheming, it’s more than petty jealousy. Her moves are deliberate, calculated, driven by ambition rather than emotion. She doesn’t act out of love or simple envy; she thrives on control and manipulating the game to ensure she’s always one step ahead.

This isn’t about me or Magnolia—it’s about power. For Celeste, it’s about pulling the strings, watching people dance to her tune. And that makes her not only unpredictable but also dangerous.

Magnolia squeezes my hand, her quiet strength shining through the worry in her eyes. “I didn’t want to ruin our night by bringing Celeste into it, but you needed to know.”

I draw her close. “You didn’t ruin anything, Magnolia. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. My past shouldn’t be coming back to haunt you like this. I hate that she’s dragging you into it.”

Her shoulders lift with a deep, shaky breath as her gaze drops to our joined hands. “This could turn into a really big problem for me. What if she exposes us to Soul Sync? She knows too much already, and if she’s capable of all this—matching with you under false pretenses, stalking us—what’s stopping her from going even further?”

Her words are a reminder of how calculated Celeste’s moves have been. Anger flares in my chest, a sharp, protective instinct rising. “I’ll handle this. Whatever Celeste thinks she’s planning, I won’t let her jeopardize your job or anything else you’ve worked so hard for. You have my word.”

Her lips press together, the tension in her expression unwavering. “I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked so hard to build. I’ve put so much into this.”

I reach up, my fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. “You won’t lose anything. I promise—I won’t let her hurt you or take anything away from you.”

My words are more than mere reassurance—they’re a quiet vow.

She leans into me, her head finding its place on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her close. As her warmth rests against me, a quiet certainty takes hold: no matter what Celeste does, no matter how far she goes, I’ll protect Magnolia—always.

While I hold her, my mind churns through possibilities, strategies to counter whatever leverage Celeste thinks she has. If she’s intent on stirring up trouble, she’ll find out I’m not someone to be underestimated.

I close my eyes, anchoring myself in this moment with Magnolia. Her scent, the feel of her resting against me, the quiet reassurance of her trust—it’s enough to block out the storm, if only for a little while.

She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine with soft determination. “Let’s go to bed.”

No hesitation. I take her hand, the connection between us fierce as she leads me toward the bedroom. There, the unspoken replaces words, every touch a promise, every glance a quiet declaration of what we mean to one another.

As I draw her into my arms, I feel it as clearly as the steady beat of my heart: this love, unwavering and boundless, is worth fighting for.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.