Chapter 45 On The Yacht #3
“I don’t expect trust,” he said. “I haven’t earned it.”
“No,” I said. “You haven’t.”
“I know.”
I leaned back slightly and crossed my arms.
“You keep saying you know, but that doesn’t tell me anything. What does ‘a chance’ even mean to you?”
He thought about that for a second.
Then answered more carefully.
“It means I stop forcing.” He held my gaze. “It means I listen. It means if you tell me to back off, I back off. If you tell me no, it means no. If you want distance, I give you distance.” His expression hardened slightly—not at me, but at himself. “It means I stop using fear as a shortcut.”
That last sentence landed between us, raw and ugly and honest.
I studied him.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically. Not just that.
Like honesty cost him.
Like every word he was saying was pulled over broken glass.
“And if you lose control again?” I asked.
His face changed at that.
The question mattered.
“I won’t.”
“That’s not a good enough answer.”
He accepted that without protest.
Then he said, “If I feel myself getting there, I leave. I remove myself. I don’t touch you.”
My bandaged hand throbbed once, as if reminding me that promises were easy after the damage was already done.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said quietly, following my eyes down to the hand. “And I’m not asking you to forgive me now.”
“Then what are you asking?”
His voice was almost steady when he answered.
“Just don’t close the door completely.”
And there it was.
The thing under all of it.
Not command.
Not entitlement.
Fear.
Real fear.
That I would shut him out forever.
I rubbed my thumb lightly against the edge of my sleeve.
“You hurt me,” I said again.
It wasn’t a dramatic statement.
Just a fact.
His jaw flexed. “I know.”
“And I’m still scared of you.”
That one hit him harder.
I saw it.
He went still.
But he didn’t interrupt.
“That doesn’t just go away because you’re suddenly being honest.”
“I know,” he said for the third or fourth or hundredth time.
This time there was no frustration in the repetition.
Just grief.
“I know.”
I looked at him for a long time.
At the man who terrified me.
At the man who was trying, awkwardly, visibly, not to scare me right now.
At the boy in the video, beaten and called weak until pain became the only thing he trusted.
“I’m not promising you anything,” I said at last.
He nodded immediately, like he’d expected worse.
“I know.”
“And this isn’t me forgiving you.”
“I know.”
“And if you ever touch me like that again—”
His expression sharpened.
“You leave,” he said.
I blinked.
He held my gaze.
“You leave. You call Sarah. You call Ava. You call the police if you want. But you do not stay.”
That answer surprised me enough that I almost showed it.
Almost.
I looked away first.
The tea arrived a minute later. Neither of us reached for it right away.
When I finally did, my injured hand protested sharply and I winced before I could hide it.
Alexander noticed immediately.
“Here,” he said, half-rising.
“I can do it.”
He froze.
Then, carefully, “May I?”
The question was so foreign coming from him that I just stared.
He stayed still, waiting.
Actually waiting.
Not taking.
Not assuming.
I looked down at the tea. Then back at him.
Finally, stiffly, I slid the cup a little closer.
He picked it up, cooled it slightly, and set it gently in front of me.
“You know,” he said softly, “this is the part where I’d normally say something incredibly inappropriate.”
laughter escaped me.
“There’s the Alexander I know.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“I’m still here.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“But I’m trying to behave.”
“That must be very difficult for you.”
“Extremely.”
He leaned slightly closer again.
His voice dropping just a little.
“But if you keep looking at me like that, I might fail.”
“I’m not looking at you any particular way.”
“You are.”
“How?”
“Like you’re trying not to.”
“Trying not to what?”
“Like me.”
My heart skipped.
“That’s very arrogant.”
“I know.”
“And wrong.”
“Possibly.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips.
Then back to my eyes.
“You should finish your tea,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because if you keep sitting here staring at me…”
His voice lowered slightly.
“I might forget we’re supposed to be behaving.”
The words came out slow. Quiet. Dangerous.
Heat rushed instantly to my face.
I grabbed the tea too quickly, lifting the cup just to give my hands something to do, something to hide behind.
Across the table, Alexander noticed.
Of course he noticed.
A soft laugh escaped him.
Low.
Warm.
The kind of sound that slid down my spine and settled somewhere far too deep.
It wasn’t mocking.
It wasn’t amused.
It was something else entirely.
The candlelight flickered between us, casting shifting shadows across his face. His eyes stayed on me, dark and steady, watching every small reaction like he had all the time in the world.
The tension between us had changed.
Earlier it had felt like standing across from an enemy.
Now it felt like something else entirely.
Something heavier.
Charged.
The air between us felt thick with it.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting along the backrest, but his attention never left me.
“You’re blushing again,” he murmured.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“Interesting,” he said softly. “Because I’m perfectly comfortable.”
I refused to look at him.
Which only made it worse.
Because I could feel his gaze moving over me slowly, deliberately, like he was taking his time memorizing every reaction I tried to hide.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “if you keep gripping that cup like that, you’re going to break it.”
I glanced down.
My fingers were wrapped tightly around the porcelain.
I loosened my grip immediately.
He noticed that too.
Another quiet laugh slipped from him.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
“I’m irritated.”
“Those two things can coexist.”
I looked up at him then, ready to argue—
And immediately wished I hadn’t.
Because the way he was looking at me now had changed.
His eyes were darker.
Focused.
Intense in a way that made the space between us feel smaller even though we were still sitting across the table.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re planning something.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“I’m always planning something.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
He leaned forward just a little then, his voice dropping again.
“If I were planning something right now,” he said quietly, “we wouldn’t still be sitting on opposite sides of the table.”
My breath caught before I could stop it.
He noticed that too.
Of course he did.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said softly.
“What thing?”
“Pretending you’re not affected by me.”
I scoffed.
“That’s not pretending.”
“No?”
“No.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.
Then lifted back to my eyes.
And the look he gave me was so unapologetically heated that it made my stomach twist.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said quietly.
The ocean rocked the yacht gently beneath us.
The candle flickered.
The world outside felt far away.
And suddenly the tension between us didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore.
It felt like standing too close to a flame.
Hot.
Dangerous.
Impossible not to feel.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
And all I could think was—
God… how long before I completely lose the fight against this man?