Chapter 25
Alexander
W omen have come and gone in my life like seasons—predictable in their arrival and departure, rarely leaving a lasting impression. Two weeks, three months—none ever making it past the half-year mark. Except Elena. Three years of knowing exactly which buttons to push, which words would cut deepest.
Three years too many.
I push her manicured hands off my lapels. “I’m engaged,” I say firmly. “What we had is over. It’s time for you to move on.”
“You can’t marry her. She’s not what you need.”
“Elena,” I begin, weighing every syllable, “you and I had our time, but it’s over. For both our sakes, we have to let go.”
Her expression crumples. “We had something special. We had a connection no one else could understand.”
I take her hands in mine, trying to be gentle. “Elena, our past can’t change anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but we can’t go back.”
“But you swore marriage wasn’t for you. Now you’re putting a ring on someone else’s finger.”
“I found a reason to change my mind.”
Elena’s perfectly lined lips press into a thin white line. “So I was just a placeholder? Some warm body keeping your bed occupied until you found your real choice?”
“It’s been two years,” I say, exhaling slowly. “What we had ended long ago.”
“Ended?” The word catches in her throat. “You’re saying I meant nothing?”
“We would have destroyed each other,” I meet her gaze steadily. “This way, we both get a second chance.”
Her perfect features shift into something harder, more honest than I’ve seen in years. “You can’t rewrite our history that easily. We had plans, Alex. The merger, the campaign, the future your father has been crafting since we were children.”
“Plans other people made for us,” I counter. “Plans that benefited our families’ ambitions, not our happiness.”
“Happiness?” She almost spits the word. “Since when did a Hawthorne choose happiness over duty? Your father certainly didn’t. Neither did your grandfather.”
The city lights glitter below us, a carpet of artificial stars stretching to the horizon.
I think of Olivia: how her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs, how she challenged me on our very first date about my family’s policy positions, how she never once asked about my net worth or political connections.
“I couldn’t go through with our engagement because you wanted more than I could give you,” I tell Elena, my voice softening slightly. “You wanted the Hawthorne name, the connections, the power. But you never wanted me, not the real me.”
“And this girl, this nobody, she wants the ‘real you’?” Elena’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches in disbelief. “Please, Alex. She wants exactly what I wanted, she’s just less honest about it.”
My hands grip the stone balustrade, knuckles whitening. “Don’t talk about Olivia that way. You don’t know her.”
“I know her type,” Elena says, stepping closer again.
“Swept off her feet by Alexander Hawthorne, dazzled by the estate, the parties, the promise of a life she’s only seen in magazines.
” Her hand finds my arm again, fingers curling around my bicep.
“She’ll never understand our world, Alex. She’ll never fit in.”
I look down at her hand, then deliberately remove it from my arm. “This is different,” I tell her, meeting her gaze directly. “What I have with Olivia is genuine. She sees past all of this—” I gesture toward the grand building behind us, “—to the person I actually am.”
“And who exactly is that?” Elena’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Because the Alex I know was born to this world. He understands the responsibilities that come with the Hawthorne name. He doesn’t throw away seven years of planning for some romantic fantasy.”
“Maybe that’s why it never worked between us. You never saw me as anything more than a Hawthorne.”
“Your father will never accept this. He thinks this is just a phase, Alex. A rebellion before you come to your senses.”
“Then he’s going to be disappointed.” I straighten my shoulders, feeling a weight lift as I finally say what I should have said months ago.
“I’m not breaking things off with Olivia.
I’m going to marry her, Elena. Not because it’s good business or smart politics, but because I’m falling for her.
That’s where my future lies.” I turn away from her. “Enjoy the rest of the party, Elena.”
Ignoring Elena’s stunned expression, I step back into the glaring lights and noise of the ballroom.
The orchestra has switched to something upbeat, and couples whirl across the dance floor while waiters weave between clusters of laughing guests with trays of champagne.
None of it matters. I scan the sea of faces, looking for the only one I want to see.
The crowd seems to swell around me, faces blurring together in a haze of smiles and jewels and expectation.
I check our table, empty except for a half-drunk glass of champagne and Olivia’s silk wrap draped over her chair.
I scan the dance floor again, the edges of the room, the small conversational groupings near the columns. Nothing.
Maybe she stepped out to take a call? Tiffany had been trying to reach her earlier. Or perhaps she’s in the powder room, touching up her makeup after our earlier reception line left little time for such things. Perfectly reasonable explanations, yet the knot in my stomach tightens.
I spot Cameron by the bar, his lanky frame easily visible as he leans against the marble countertop, nursing what looks like scotch.
“Cam,” I say, approaching him. “Have you seen Olivia?”
His usual easy smile fades as he takes in my expression. “I was about to ask you the same thing, man.” He straightens, setting his drink down. “Is everything okay?”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be?”
Cameron hesitates, glancing around before lowering his voice. “She left, Alex. About fifteen minutes ago. Looked pretty upset, too.”
Upset?
My stomach drops. “Left? What do you mean she left?”
“I saw her heading for the exit. Tried to catch up to her, but she was moving fast. By the time I got outside, she was already in your car.” He studies my face, concern deepening in his eyes. “She seemed pretty shaken up, man. What happened?”
Fifteen minutes ago. Right when I was on the balcony with Elena. The realization makes me nauseous.
“Did she say anything to you? Anything at all?” I press, my voice tight with rising panic.
Cameron shakes his head. “Didn’t get the chance. But Alex, she was crying. And not like, elegant single-tear crying. The real deal.”
“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair. “She must have seen me with Elena on the balcony.”
“Elena?” Cameron’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your ex-Elena? What the hell was that about?”
“Nothing. It was nothing. She cornered me outside, trying to stir up old history.” I pull out my phone, already scrolling for my driver’s contact. “I need to go. Now.”
“You want me to cover for you?” Cameron offers, already shifting into damage control mode. “I can say you got an urgent call or something.”
“Please.” I don’t have time to worry about people’s reaction to my early departure.
I press James’s number as I weave through the crowd toward the service exit, hoping to avoid photographers and well-wishers. The line rings three times before he answers.
“Mr. Hawthorne?” James’s voice is steady as always.
“James, did you drive Ms. Carter home earlier?” I ask, pushing through a door into a quieter hallway.
“Yes, sir. A few minutes ago. She asked to be taken to her apartment.”
The confirmation sends another wave of anxiety through me. “How was she? Was she alright?”
There’s a pause on the line, the kind that speaks volumes. “I wouldn’t say so, sir. She seemed... distressed.”
“I need a car at the east entrance immediately. I’m going to Olivia’s.” I quicken my pace, loosening my bow tie as I go.
“I’m currently waiting for Senator Hawthorne, sir. Should I send another driver, or—”
“No. Just come now. My father can use another car.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there in three minutes.”
I end the call, shoving the phone back in my pocket as I navigate the service corridors of the estate.
My mind races with what Olivia might have seen, what she might be thinking.
Elena’s hand on my face. Our bodies close together in the moonlight.
Without context, without hearing my rejection, the scene would look damning.
I pull out my phone again, dialing Olivia’s number. Her recorded voice asks me to leave a message. I hang up and try again immediately. Same result.
Emerging from the service exit, I scan the circular driveway for James. The night air has turned chilly, but I barely notice. All I can think about is reaching Olivia, explaining before this misunderstanding spirals beyond repair.
“Mr. Hawthorne!” A photographer spots me from near the main entrance. “Can we get a quick shot of you and your fiancée for the society page?”
I ignore him, relief washing over me as I spot the familiar black sedan pulling around the corner. James steps out, opening the door for me.
“Ms. Carter’s apartment, sir?” he asks as I slide into the back seat.
“Yes. As fast as you can.” I settle into the leather seat, already pulling out my phone again. “And James? Thank you.”
He nods once in the rearview mirror, understanding in his eyes as he pulls away from the curb.
I stare at my phone screen, Olivia’s contact photo smiling up at me—a candid shot I took last Saturday at the farmers’ market, her hair wild in the wind, laughing at something I’d said.
I dial her number again, counting the rings, willing her to answer. It rings once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.
“Olivia, it’s me. Please call me back. We need to talk.”
I hang up and immediately text her:
I’m on my way to your place.
I drum my fingers against my knee, fighting the urge to jump out and run the remaining fifteen blocks. My legs bounce with nervous energy, and I force myself to take deep breaths. Losing control won’t help. Olivia needs me calm, rational, and able to explain clearly what happened.
I stare at my reflection again, rehearsing what I’ll say when I see her.
The truth is simple: Elena was my past—a relationship built on family expectations and mutual advantage, not love.
Olivia is different. She challenges me, sees me as more than my last name, makes me laugh, makes me think.
With her, I’m not Senator Hawthorne’s son or the Hawthorne heir—I’m just Alex, and that’s enough.