Chapter 12
TWELVE
LUCAS
I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, buttoning up my shirt with slow, clumsy fingers. The fabric feels stiff and heavy, like it knows I’m hesitating.
I don’t understand this—any of it.
I don’t understand why I’m standing here, why I’m waiting for a car that shouldn’t be coming for me.
I don’t know why I agreed. Why didn’t I say no?
It isn’t the money. God, it should be the money.
Five grand every week is enough to survive.
More than enough to stop worrying about my next rent payment, about how many shifts I can squeeze in before my body gives up.
It’s enough to breathe for a while. It’s still so good to be true.
But that’s not why I said yes.
It’s him.
It’s the way his voice, his eyes, his aura, and dominance in the way he speaks and moves.
His eyes cut into me like they’re trying to understand something I don’t even know about myself…
it compels me. I should hate it. I should fight it.
I can’t. I don’t. And that terrifies me.
I’ve always been in control. My life, my choices, my voice.
And with him… I feel off balance, untethered.
Everything about Alexander is dangerous.
I know it. I should stay away, stay safe, stay sane. But I can’t.
I know that it’s not about the money, it never was.
A sharp knock at the door makes me flinch. I turn, finding Tyler leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, his face pulled tight with worry. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. The question is written all over him.
“Are you really going?” he asks, arms folding around his chest
I give him a quick nod.
He watches me for a moment, then sighs.
“You’re sure?”
I nod again, avoiding his eyes, and throw on a sweater vest over my shirt. I don’t want to see the concern there. I don’t want to answer the questions I can’t even ask myself.
“It’s a lot of money,” Tyler says slowly, his brow furrowing deeper. “Just to teach him sign language for four days a week?”
I shrug. What else can I say? That I’m doing this because I can’t stop thinking about Alexander?
About how he is the only person I have been talking to with my voice?
I should tell Tyler about it, but I can’t.
I feel guilty. How can I speak almost freely with someone I barely know, someone I should barely trust…
and yet I haven’t had the courage to speak a full sentence to my best friend in almost five years?
Tyler doesn’t let it go. “It doesn’t feel right.”
I reach for my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.
“I didn’t quit my job,” I sign to him, my hands quick and defensive. “I asked for the rest of the week off.”
Tyler’s mouth presses into a thin line. “And they easily let you off?”
I nod. “I said it was for sick leave.”
The lie sat like a lump in my stomach when I told my manager. He gave me a look—the kind that said he didn’t believe me, but didn’t care to ask.
Before Tyler can say anything further, my phone vibrates. The screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize, but I already know who it is. I hesitate before answering.
The voice of Alexander’s driver is calm and professional. He tells me he’s waiting outside my apartment building. I swallow and hang up, sliding the phone into my pocket. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, a steady thrum that drowns out Tyler’s silence.
“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to go’’ he says as he follows me towards the doorway. “I know you really need the money, but…”
I pause, hand gripping the doorknob like it’s the only thing keeping me steady. How do I explain that this isn’t about money? That I want to go because… I want to see Alexander again. I want to understand why his eyes cut through me like he can read something I don’t even understand about myself.
“I’ll be fine,” I sign instead.
Tyler looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he follows me downstairs, quiet, tense. I can feel his worry behind me, pressing against my back like a shadow I can’t shake.
The Range Rover waits at the curb. The driver stands by the door, face neutral, sunglasses hiding everything. He was the one who picked me up from the café that day.
Tyler stops beside me, jaw tight, and signs this time, “Are you sure?”
I am.
But I don’t know how to tell him that it feels like I’ve already made the choice, like it wasn’t even mine to make. That somewhere deep down, I want to go. I want to feel that pull toward Alexander again—even though it terrifies me. Even though I know it’s dangerous. Even though I shouldn’t.
I give Tyler a slight nod, then step forward and hug him. Quick. Fragile. The best I can provide.
“I’ll be okay,” I sign one last time. “I’ll be back by nine.”
The driver opens the door. I slide into the leather seat, shutting the world behind me with a soft click. I draw in a shaky breath, chest tight.
What the hell am I getting myself into?
***
God, what am I doing?
I ask myself repeatedly, sitting across from Alex in the upstairs den of his penthouse.
He had been on one of the couches in the large living room when I arrived.
A small smile on his face when I nonchalantly gave him a small nod as a greeting.
Then he took me upstairs, saying we would be having all of our lessons at the upstairs sitting area.
It’s not as big as downtown, but it’s cozier, open, and bathed in natural light from the tall windows.
There’s a large bookshelf filled with neatly arranged books, a L-shaped sofa with cushions, and a glass coffee table in front of it.
I’m sitting on the far end of the sofa now, across from him. The weight of his gaze presses against my skin, heavy and unrelenting, but I can’t look at him. I focus on fumbling with my bag zipper and taking out the ASL books for beginners that I used when I started learning sign language.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. I try not to think about how close he is, how his presence seems to pull at me like gravity, how I feel caught in something I don’t understand. Something I shouldn’t want.
“We’ll start with… alphabets,” I say, my voice a little raspy
“I already know ASL alphabet,” he says, his monotone voice low as usual.
This makes me look at him with surprise. “You do?”
He gives me a nod, “So now we can start with simple sentences, right?”
I don’t reply and give him a look. How did he know the alphabet?
He sighs, then lifts his fingers to sign an A. I gape at him, but he continues signing B, C, D… I stare in disbelief as he completes the remaining alphabet, his hands moving slowly and confidently. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“I learned it somewhere else, Lucas,” he says, “it’s not a big deal.”
I blink, then nod.
“Okay then,” I reply slowly
We begin with basic conversational signs, such as hello, how are you, and so on. All going smoothly, even though my nerves were through the roof from how keeping eye contact with him is so freaking distracting.
Not until I am about to sign a full sentence of [ hello, how are you today] do I feel overly nervous.
I force my hands to move, even though they feel like stone. The sign is easy, but it feels like my hands betray me, trembling slightly as I perform it. I show him again, slower, more carefully, meeting his gaze.
His eyes don’t let me go.
They hold me there, pinned in place, until I feel I can’t breathe, as if I stay here too long, something inside me will unravel.
He watches me, silent, and I feel every second of it dragging over my skin. His stare feels like a question. Like a demand. Like something deeper, I don’t know how to answer.
“What’s wrong?” His voice cuts into the quiet. Not harsh. Not demanding. A little bit of concern in them.
I shake my head, but I know that won’t be enough. Not for him, so I grab my notebook, since I know that the nerves won’t let me talk. So I scribble:
This is my first time teaching anyone ASL I used to teach Tyler a little bit back then, but this is new for me.
I shove the paper towards him and avoid his gaze. When I finally force myself to lift my gaze, He’s just watching me. Calmly, like he’s waiting and listening, even though I haven’t spoken a word.
“It’s fine,” he says after a long moment. “You can take your time.”
I stare at him, waiting for something to shift, for him to change his mind. For him to grow impatient, like most people do when they realize how slow I am. How broken.
But he just sits there, watching me.
“I’m not in a rush,” he says again. His voice lowers, softer now. “If it takes weeks or months, it doesn’t matter. Just… show me.”
Something flutters in my chest. It shouldn’t mean anything. I shouldn’t let it mean anything, but it feels like it does.
I nod, and this time I sign to him slowly and carefully.
“Thank you.”
His gaze follows my hands, then back at me, and he gives me a small smile that’s barely there, but I see it.
“You’re welcome,” he signs back. I couldn’t help but smile; that had been among the first basic words I had taught him earlier. He is such a fast learner.