Chapter 9
NINE
LUCAS
I wake up with a stretch, arms reaching above my head, muscles pulling tight as if even sleep hasn’t been enough to unknot the ache in my body. Exhaustion clings to me, but it’s not the worst weight pressing on my chest.
It’s him.
Alexander Petrov.
God, I must be losing my mind. There’s no reason he should be the first thought clawing its way into my head the second I open my eyes. And yet… here he is, lodged under my skin like a splinter.
Three days. Three whole days since I stayed at his penthouse, and still—still—he’s everywhere in me. His voice, his eyes, the effortless command in the way he moves. His presence refuses to fade, like the ghost of smoke you can’t scrub out of a room.
I groan and shove my face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated sound.
It’s infuriating. I don’t want to think about him.
I shouldn’t. But my mind betrays me, dragging me back to the way he looked behind that counter, shirtless, broad shoulders backlit by the morning sun.
He’d stood there like he owned the whole damn world.
And maybe he does.
His skin, smooth and toned, his body sculpted like something the gods would’ve fought wars over. My fingers twitch with a thought I don’t dare finish. What would his skin feel like under my touch?
Heat rushes up my neck. I slap my cheek, muttering a curse in my head. And of course—my body reacts anyway, twitching hard at the thought of him. Waking up with a boner is normal. But this? Getting hard at the memory of him? That should be a crime.
What the hell is wrong with me? I sit up quickly, exhaling through my nose, chest tight. This is ridiculous. He’s rich, untouchably rich. The kind of wealth that lives in another universe. One I don’t belong in, and never will. And besides…
I shudder, memory unspooling. The alley.
The man bleeding out on the pavement, the stillness in Alexander’s body as if violence lived in his bones.
His hands bruised, his face unreadable. That calm wasn’t human.
It was something darker, something dangerous, and yet… I can’t stop circling back to him.
I press my palms to my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I have enough to worry about.
Like my hearing.
Work has been hell. The silence feels heavier without my aids.
The missing one is gone for good, and the other barely hangs on, buzzing uselessly like a dying lightbulb.
Everything is muffled and distant, as if the world itself were underwater.
Conversations blur past me; voices slip through cracks I can’t fill.
Every shift leaves me drained, humiliated by how much I miss.
I should be saving every penny for a replacement. But then Mom, God, my mother, decided to betray me in her usual fashion. Whatever little hope I had of piecing things together, she tore it apart. Again.
Great. Just great.
With a heavy sigh, I drag myself out of bed and into the small living room.
Coffee lingers in the air, bitter and warm, grounding me just enough to notice Tyler in the kitchen.
He’s at the stove, spatula in hand, eyes glued to the TV.
He barely glances at me as he nods a greeting, his scowl deepening as he stirs whatever’s in the pan.
I pause, catching his expression, and I tap the counter to get his attention.
“What’s wrong?” I sign.
Tyler scoffs, flicking his head toward the TV. “Oh, nothing. Just that the police finally closed the case of the guy who was murdered weeks ago. Should’ve done it sooner. The man was a monster. He deserved it.”
I frown, turning to the screen. A photo sits in the corner—bald head, round eyes, a smug, crooked smile.
My breath catches.
Wait. I lean forward, squinting, and my chest caves in as recognition slams into me.
That face. That same man.
The one I saw choking on his own blood in the alley.
My grip locks onto the counter, knuckles burning white. My heart pounds so violently it drowns out everything else.
Alexander killed him?
No. No, I—I thought he was just beating him up.
My stomach twists, sour and tight. Why the hell did I even think it was okay to watch someone get beaten to a pulp and still… still find the man doing it attractive? What’s wrong with me? Why the hell did I even think someone could survive that?
A chill creeps through my skin, sinking deep, as my mind reels.
I slept in his penthouse.
I ate breakfast at his table.
I let him drive me home.
All while knowing what he’s capable of.
I squeeze my hands until they ache, trying to steady my breathing. But the image won’t leave me—Alexander’s face that night. Cold. Detached.
Dear lord… I’m a witness to a murder. I force myself to glance at Tyler, who’s still muttering at the screen, anger lining his voice.
I drum my fingers sharply against the counter to get his attention, then sign: “Who was he?”
Tyler turns, eyes shadowed, “some rich asshole who sexually assaulted a girl — beat her up, too. But he got off with probation because there wasn’t enough evidence to send him to prison.” Then he scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m glad he’s dead. The world’s better off without him.”
I nod automatically, but my head is spinning.
The words Tyler just said coil in my chest like poison.
Did Alexander know what the man had done? Did he kill him because of that? Or was it something else entirely? Was the victim somehow connected to him? Family? Business?
I rub my arms, trying to shake off the unease crawling up my spine, but it clings like static. I don’t know what to believe. A part of me wants to trust that Alex isn’t capable of murder. But another part—
I remember his eyes that night.
Unforgiving.
Deadly.
I swallow hard. My throat feels raw as I yank open the fridge and grab a water bottle. I gulp it down too quickly, coughing as it burns its way down. Anything to drown out his face in my head. Anything to stop thinking about him.
“Someone’s knocking,” Tyler signs
I frown, confused. We weren’t expecting anyone. Dragging my feet to the door, I open it halfway and my brows dip.
A woman stands there. She looks maybe in her twenties, hair styled neatly in bangs, her outfit sharp but casual—too polished to be a stranger just passing through.
“Hello, Lucas.”
I blink at her, watching her lips carefully, making sure I read them right.
“My name is Ashley.”
Ashley.
Then her following words land like a stone dropped in water, rippling through me until everything inside feels unsteady.
“I’m Alexander Petrov’s assistant.”
I just…stare. The words stick in my head like broken glass. I can’t seem to line them up into something that makes sense.
My stomach twists hard.
She’s who again?
My grip on the door tightens until my knuckles ache. I replay the movement of her lips in my mind over and over, desperate to catch some mistake. Maybe I read her wrong. Maybe she said something else. But no. I didn’t get it wrong.
Ashley doesn’t wait for me to catch up. She checks her watch with a polite efficiency that makes me feel small, like I’m already on someone else’s schedule.
“I’m here to take you to the audiology clinic,” she says, her smile calm and professional.
The words don’t register at first.
I frown. Confusion, dread, and something I can’t name pile up inside me.
“Mr Alexander booked an appointment,” she continues smoothly, “for you to get checked out—and to replace your hearing aids. We should be there by ten.”
It’s like being shoved into ice water. My thoughts stutter, trip over each other, refuse to make sense.
Booked?
Appointment?
Before I can form a single reply, Tyler steps closer, his eyes narrowing as they flick between me and Ashley. He taps my shoulder sharply.
“Who the hell is Alexander?”
My gut twists… I open my mouth. Close it. Not like a word would come out anyway.
Fuck… it came out with Alex.
Ashley doesn’t seem fazed. She watches me with a patience that makes my skin itch, like she already predicted this scene. But I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it.
Alexander booked an appointment.
For my hearing aids.
A rush of heat floods my chest, tightening around my lungs. It isn’t just shock, it’s the weight of it. The fact that he thought to do this. That he dared.
I lick my lips and finally grab the phone from Tyler’s hand, my fingers stiff.
Is this some joke? I type and shove the screen toward her.
Ashley reads it, then tilts her head slightly, professional calm never cracking.
“Definitely not. I can call him on video if you’d like to speak to him directly.”
My stomach lurches. The last thing I want is to see his face or talk to him—not after the news about the murder, not after the fact that I know I have some kind of attraction towards him, despite everything.
Anger, confusion, something jagged I can’t name. They all knot together until I can’t breathe right. One thing cuts through the blur, though: Alexander Petrov is prying open pieces of my life he has no right to touch. And I have no idea how to stop him.
Tyler glances between us like she’s some riddle he’s desperate to crack. I take a shaky breath, then grab his wrist and sign, Tell her we need a minute. He doesn’t hesitate. He turns toward Ashley and says, a little awkwardly,
“Uh, can you wait outside for a sec?” His hand moves in a clumsy imitation of my signing.
Ashley only nods, as unruffled as ever. Tyler shuts the door firmly. The second it’s closed, he whirls on me.
“Who the hell is Alexander?”
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaustion already sinking into my bones.
“Someone I met.”
His expression twists with disbelief.
“You met?”
“Not like that,” sign sharply.
He raises a brow. “Then like what?”
I let out a breath, the weight of it sagging in my chest.
“It’s… complicated.”
Tyler crosses his arms, eyebrows raised. “Then uncomplicate it.”