Chapter 26
Alexander
W hen James pulls up to her building, I step out into the steadily increasing downpour.
Water streams down my face, plastering my hair to my forehead.
The expensive fabric of my jacket grows heavy, clinging to my shoulders.
I barely notice. My attention is fixed on Olivia’s apartment building.
Her windows on the fourth floor are lit, a warm glow against the dark, rainy night.
She’s home. Relief washes over me, followed immediately by apprehension.
Will she even let me in? Will she listen?
I press her apartment number on the intercom panel, waiting for a response that doesn’t come.
My finger hovers over her apartment number again, tempted to press it a second time, but I resist. Pushing too hard might only drive her further away.
Water streams from my hair into my eyes, and I blink it away, refusing to move, to give up.
The silence stretches longer than hope should allow, but just as I reach for my phone to try calling again, a sharp buzz cuts through the sound of rainfall. The door unlocks. She’s letting me in.
Relief washes through me as I push through the entrance.
The lobby is empty, dimly lit by wall sconces that cast long shadows across the tiled floor.
I don’t wait for the elevator; instead, I take the stairs two at a time, my soaked leather shoes squeaking against the steps.
My heart pounds from more than just the exertion.
What will I say when I see her? How do I make her understand that what she saw was nothing? That Elena means nothing?
By the time I reach the fourth floor, my breath comes in short bursts.
Water leaves a trail behind me as I move down the hallway toward apartment 5B.
I pause before her door, suddenly aware of how I must look—hair plastered to my forehead, five-thousand-dollar suit ruined, the composed Alexander Hawthorne completely undone.
I drag a hand across my face, clearing away some of the moisture, and raise my fist to knock.
My knuckles barely make contact with the door before I hear movement inside—the soft pad of bare feet across hardwood. I knock again, more urgently.
“Olivia?” My voice cracks. “Olivia, please. It’s me.”
Silence. Then, there is the subtle shift of weight against the floorboards as she approaches the door. I lean closer, pressing my palm against the cool surface.
“I know you’re there. Please, just let me explain.”
The peephole darkens—she’s looking at me. I straighten, trying to appear less desperate than I feel, but what’s the point? I am desperate.
“Go away, Alex.” Her voice is muffled through the door, but I can hear the hurt in it. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Five minutes,” I plead. “That’s all I’m asking for. Five minutes to explain what happened.”
More silence. I press my forehead against the door, closing my eyes.
“Please,” I whisper.
The lock clicks, and I step back as the door opens a crack, the security chain still in place.
Through the narrow gap, I see her—hair damp from a shower, face scrubbed clean of makeup, wrapped only in a bathrobe.
The vulnerability of her appearance strikes me harder than any calculated society dress ever could.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, her expression a complex mix of anger and hurt that makes my chest ache.
“Why are you here?” she asks, her voice steadier than her hands, which grip the edge of the door like it might keep her from drowning.
“What you saw tonight with Elena—it wasn’t what it looked like.” The words sound hollow even to my ears, a cliché that can’t possibly convey the truth. “Please, Olivia. Just let me come in so we can talk properly.”
“I think I saw exactly what it was,” she says, her jaw tightening. “You and your ex looking very cozy on a moonlit balcony. Her hand on your face. The perfect picture.” She starts to close the door. “I don’t need the explanation. I get it.”
Panic surges through me, and I wedge my foot against the door before she can shut it completely. “No, you don’t get it. That’s not what was happening. Elena approached me, and I was telling her that we were over.”
Olivia’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t try to force the door closed against my foot. “Move your foot, Alex.”
“Not until you hear me out.” I take a breath, forcing my voice to soften. “If you still want me to leave after that, I will. I promise.”
Water drips from my clothes, forming a small puddle at my feet. A neighbor’s door opens down the hall, and an elderly man peers out curiously before retreating back inside. Olivia notices, and her cheeks flush.
“Fine,” she says after a long moment. “Five minutes.”
She closes the door to remove the chain, and I withdraw my foot, exhaling slowly. When the door reopens, she stands back, creating as much distance between us as the small entryway allows. I step inside, immediately conscious of the water I’m tracking onto her polished hardwood floors.
“I should...” I gesture at my soaked suit.
“Stay there,” she instructs, voice clipped. She disappears into her bathroom, returning with a towel that she tosses to me without making eye contact. “You’re dripping all over my floor.”
I catch the towel, running it over my hair and face. Olivia stands with her back against the wall. The distance between us—barely six feet—feels like miles.
“Your five minutes start now,” she says, glancing at the sleek wall clock above my head.
I nod, suddenly unsure where to begin now that I have the chance to explain.
All my carefully rehearsed words evaporate in the face of her hurt.
The only thing I know with absolute certainty is that I can’t lose her—not like this, not over a misunderstanding born from Elena’s manipulation and my own failure to be completely honest about my past.
“I should have told you everything about Elena long before tonight,” I say, shrugging off my sodden jacket, wincing as water streams from the sleeves onto her floor.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” I mutter, awkwardly folding the wet garment over my arm.
Steam still clings to the air from Olivia’s shower, the scent of lavender and something citrusy surrounding us.
We’re both exposed in different ways—me in my ruined suit with my usual composure washed away by rain and desperation, her in nothing but a bathrobe with hurt plain in her eyes.
I’ve never felt more vulnerable in my life.
“You wanted to explain. So explain.”
I nod, searching for the right place to begin. “Elena and I were never real. Our relationship and engagement were an arrangement. A business deal, essentially.”
Olivia’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “A business deal?”
“The Crawfords and the Hawthorns have been allies for generations. Her father owns half the media outlets on the East Coast. My father wants to run for president someday.” I run my fingers through my wet hair, sending droplets spattering against the wall.
“Our engagement was planned since we were teenagers—a strategic alliance that would benefit both families. I rebelled in some ways—fought my father on Harvard Business, chose law school instead. But with Elena...” I watch Olivia’s face tighten as I say the name.
“With the engagement, I gave in. I convinced myself it was practical. Inevitable. Until I realized I wanted something real.”
I take a tentative step forward, water squishing in my expensive leather shoes.
“Elena developed feelings I couldn’t reciprocate.
She began talking about our future together—children, a house in the Hamptons—while I still saw our relationship as a strategic alliance.
We couldn’t even share a house, let alone a life.
That’s why I broke it off last year, which sent my father scrambling to arrange another suitable match. ”
Olivia’s eyes stay fixed on mine, searching for deception. “If it was over, then what was tonight about? Why were you alone with her on that balcony?”
“I wasn’t...” I sigh, frustrated by how this must sound. “I went outside for some air. The party, the photographers, all of it was becoming too much. Elena followed me out there. I didn’t seek her out, Olivia.”
A drop falls from my sleeve, landing with an audible pat against the hardwood. Olivia shifts her weight as steam continues to dissipate around us, the bathroom door still ajar behind her.
“She came onto the balcony,” I continue, “and immediately started talking about our past, trying to remind me of what we’d had. But what she doesn’t understand—what she’s never understood—is that we never had anything real. It was all for show, all to please our families.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her no. I told her explicitly that what we had wasn’t real, and that I’m with you now.” I take another step closer, narrowing the gap between us. “I was clear, Olivia. Crystal clear. There’s nothing between Elena and me anymore.”
“You looked pretty cozy from where I was standing.”
“She touched my face,” I acknowledge. “It was a manipulation, a way of trying to create intimacy where there was none. I moved away from her immediately.”
She remains silent, but the rigid line of her shoulders relaxes.
“I ended things with Elena because I realized I wanted something genuine,” I say, moving close enough now that I could reach out and touch her if I dared. “I just didn’t know what that meant until that weekend at the beach when you fell asleep against my shoulder watching the sunset.”
A tear traces the contour of Olivia’s cheek, catching the light before I brush it away.
“I’ve spent my whole life playing a role.
The dutiful son. The political heir. The perfect Hawthorne.
With you, for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m playing a part.
I’m just me. When you laugh, I forget my own name.
When you touch me, I forget everyone else exists.
And it terrifies me because now I have something real to lose.
And my family won’t understand why I would choose my own happiness over their plans. ”
“And is that what I am?” Olivia asks. “Your happiness?”
“Yes,” I breathe, taking her face in both hands. “You are everything I never knew to wish for.”