Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
LUCAS
I don’t think about the kiss.
I don’t think about the way Alex felt against me, the way his lips moved over mine, or how his hands held me like I was fragile—like I was precious.
I don’t think about the way my chest tightened the morning he told me he’d be gone on a work trip, the way a small, selfish part of me panicked, wondering if maybe he just wanted to avoid me.
It’s a stupid thought.
So I work.
I started that Monday before going to Alex’s place, before being kissed senseless—because I didn’t quit.
I’d asked my manager to let me work part-time, four hours a day, so I could still manage classes and meet Alex by five each evening.
That was the plan. But now, since I won’t see him until Friday, I work longer shifts.
I make coffee. Arrange pastries. Wipe down counters—anything that keeps my hands moving, anything that keeps my mind from spiraling back to him.
To us.
But the hickey on my neck lingers, it’s Thursday, and it still hasn’t faded.
Every morning, I carefully dab foundation over it, grateful for the skill I’ve honed—from watching my mother apply makeup, from experimenting on myself, even from Tyler showing me techniques.
Tyler had seen the hickeys the first day after Alex dropped me off and gave me hell for it.
Today, I’m finally rounding up my shift, tired but relieved. My shoulders ache, and my head feels heavy from the long hours. I reach for my locker in the staff room, thinking about going home and taking a hot shower, when a loud voice startles me.
“Lucas, my man!”
An arm slings around my shoulders, too close, too tight. My entire body locks up, and my muscles go rigid—panic slams into my ribs before I can stop it. I flinch and jerk away so hard that I nearly stumble back into the lockers.
Jeremy, one of my coworkers, stares at me as if I have just grown another head. His surprise quickly fades into something amused.
“Jesus, relax. It’s just me.”
I force air into my lungs, trying to push down the sharp tremor in my hands. I don’t care who it is. I don’t like being grabbed like that. I don’t like the way it makes my skin crawl.
And when did Jeremy start being friendly with me? He had always been a piece of shit to me ever since he started working here seven months ago.
I pull out my phone and quickly type: Don’t do that again.
When I hold it up to show him, his expression twists into something ugly.
“Or what?” He sneers stepping closer.
I press my lips together, my jaw tight.
I could push him away, shove past him, tell him to screw off—but I don’t want to make a scene. Not here. Not now.
I just shove my phone into my locker and turn away.
Needing a minute.
In the bathroom, I press my hands against the sink, inhaling slowly, counting under my breath.
One. Two. Three.
Calm down.
Four. Five. Six.
He’s not worth it.
Seven. Eight—
The moment I feel steady enough, I step out and head back to my locker. But when I open it, something cold seeps into my stomach.
My phone is lying there. Face up.
The screen—
Smashed.
Not just cracked, but shattered, like someone had taken a heavy object and slammed it on the phone several times.
My fingers tighten into fists.
I already know who did this.
My body moves before my mind does. I storm out the back door, knowing exactly where to find him.
He is leaning against the wall in the backyard, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. A few of the other staff are nearby, caught up in their own conversations.
When he spots me, his mouth stretches into a wicked grin.
I don’t stop, I march straight up to him, holding up my ruined phone, my pulse roaring in my ears. I want to scream at him, want to ask him why, but the words don’t come, they never come. Knowing my words only come freely when I’m with Alex infuriates me.
Jeremy just leans back lazily, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. His voice is as irritating as ever when he says,
“Do you have any evidence it was me?”
The way he says it makes my blood boil. I grip my phone tighter, my throat burning with all the things I want to say but can’t. I hate this. Hate how easy it is for him to run his mouth while I have to stand here, fists clenched, heart pounding, silent.
He watches me, waiting, knowing I can’t answer him the way he wants me to. And then he smirks.
“Don’t have something to say?” His voice is mockingly sweet. “Not like you can talk anyway.”
My jaw locks so tight it aches, but before I can react, someone else does.
“Jeremy, you’re such a loser.”
I turn just as one of my coworkers, Megan, marches up, fury burning in her eyes. Jeremy’s smirk falters. I had heard him tell Josh, one of our bakers, that he had a crush on her.
“Are you serious?” she snaps. “You broke his phone, and now you’re bullying him for not being able to talk? What do you get off on being a complete dick?”
Jeremy’s grin fades, and I see it—the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. He scoffs, pushing off the wall.
“I did not do that to his phone, and Whatever, it was a piece of shit phone anyway.” He seethes.
“Yeah?” Megan crosses her arms. “So are you.”
Jeremy glares at her but doesn’t say anything. He turns away, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under his heel. A second later, he’s gone.
Megan turns back to me.
“You okay?”
I nod.
She hesitates, then tells me she’ll report it to our manager, squeezes my arm lightly before walking away. I take a slow breath. My hands are still shaking, but not from fear. From rage.
I glare at Jeremy’s retreating form, knowing this won’t be the last time he tries to mess with me, and I am getting tired of it.
***
I stand outside my apartment building, waiting for Alexander’s driver. My phone is useless now—dead for good. The repairman had told me this morning that it’s beyond saving. Just like me, maybe.
Perfect.
The black car pulls up, and I slip inside before the driver can get out. For two weeks, he’s been ferrying me back and forth, yet I don’t even know his name. He’s never offered it, and I’ve never asked. The silence between us feels like part of the arrangement.
The ride is quiet, as always. My nerves coil tighter the closer we get. I tell myself it’s nothing, that it’s stupid, but anticipation is already blooming warm in my chest. I haven’t seen Alexander in days. And God help me, I’ve missed him.
The elevator ride to his penthouse feels endless. When the doors open, I step into his vast, open living space.
And stop dead.
A woman is descending the stairs, graceful, deliberate.
Long red hair tumbles over her shoulders, her black dress clings like it was made for her body alone.
Lips painted the same shade as fresh blood curve, unsmiling.
There’s something in her carriage—ease, ownership—that makes my stomach knot.
She doesn’t look like a guest. She looks like she belongs here.
Her eyes find me. Green, cool, appraising.
“Who are you?” Her voice is low, smooth, tinged with a Russian accent.
I can’t answer. My throat locks.
Footsteps sound above us, steady, unhurried. My pulse spikes.
Alexander.
He appears at the top of the stairs. Shirtless. Only grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, damp hair curling against his temples as though he’s just stepped out of the shower. Every line of his body is honed, hard, effortless. I can’t stop staring.
When I tear my gaze away, she’s watching me with something sharp in her eyes— amusement, maybe. Or curiosity.
“Hello?” she calls again, head tilting, voice lilting with feigned patience.
Before I can even gather the breath to answer, Alex’s voice cuts across the room.
“Leave him alone, Vera.”
Low. Controlled. A warning threaded through steel.
Her eyes flick toward him, glinting. Then, in Russian, she murmurs something smooth, almost teasing. I don’t understand a word, but the way her tone dips, like velvet wrapping around a knife, makes my skin prickle.
Alex replies in the same clipped, decisive tone.
And I hate it.
I hate not knowing.
The sound of their voices—secret and intimate feels like I’ve been locked out of a room I didn’t even know existed.
When she turns back to me, her lips curve into a smile. Knowing. Amused. Like she sees more than I do.
My throat tightens.
She moves closer, deliberate, each step punctuated by the sharp click of her heels against the floor. I can’t look at her, not fully. My gaze drifts back to Alex instead.
He’s staring at me.
Not at her. At me.
Unblinking and unreadable. Always unreadable.
She stops just beside me, her perfume brushing the air between us, her eyes sliding over me like she’s fitting pieces together. Then she scoffs softly, as if the puzzle’s been solved.
“Will you be at the dinner party?”
My brows knit. Dinner party?
Her smile deepens at my confusion.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure Sasha will give you an invite.”
Sasha.
I’ve never heard anyone call him that.
Before I can untangle that thought, she tilts her head toward Alex, eyes glittering with something sly.
“Won’t you, baby?”
Baby.
The word claws at my chest. My heart lurches, dropping heavy, like it’s trying to escape. I look at him almost desperately, searching for a flicker of denial, of reassurance, of anything. But his face is carved in stone, as impenetrable as ever.
Her smirk widens. She pats my shoulder once, almost mockingly, before turning toward the elevator.
I don’t move.
I don’t watch her go. I just hear the click of her heels fading, the soft chime of the elevator, the doors sliding shut.
And beneath it all, my pulse keeps roaring in my ears. My hearing aid amplifies it until it’s all I can hear. A storm trapped inside me. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and my chest aches from it.
And then—finally, finally—I look at Alex.
Waiting.
Waiting for a word or an explanation.
For anything.
Explain what, Lucas? I ask myself.
I don’t know.
Just—something.
Because I don’t know what to do with the wreckage inside me. With the storm clawing at my ribs. With the unbearable silence stretching between us, heavier than her presence, heavier than everything.
***
“You didn’t quit your job.”
Alex’s voice finally cuts through the silence, low and unwavering.
I flinch, caught off guard. He’s walking towards me now, there’s something in his expression—like he’s assessing me, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear me say it.
For a brief second, I almost forgot about the woman who just left. Almost.
I blink, “How did you—”
He tilts his head slightly, like my question is pointless.
“I have my ways.”
Of course, he does. I press my lips together, my fingers curling into the hem of my shirt. Why does he care?
“Why does it matter?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it.
He exhales, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You agreed to quit.”
I let out a humorless breath, shaking my head.
“It’s not something I can do easily.”
“Why?” His jaw tenses. “You really want us to go back and forth with this again?”
I hesitate.
Why?
Because this—whatever this is—feels too fragile. Too good to be true, and I can’t trust it.
I look away, my throat tightening.
“Because I don’t believe this will last,” I say quietly.
The words hang between us, heavier than I expect. Alex doesn’t say anything right away, but I can feel the shift in him. I swallow and keep going, because now that I’ve started, I might as well finish.
“I don’t believe that teaching you ASL will last for long, and I’m not going to throw away a job I need just because you think I should.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“Lucas—”
We’re not the same, Alex.” My voice wavers slightly, but I push through. “You can afford to throw money at anything you want, but I can’t. I have to take care of myself. I don’t have the luxury of trusting someone to take care of me.”
He presses his lips together, his frustration evident.
“Then what do you want me to do?” He asks, anger evident in his tone. “Should we sign a legal contract? Would that make you believe me?”
I flinch at the sharpness in his tone.
“We can have an agreement,” he continues, voice controlled now but tight. “I’ll put it in writing, Lucas. You’ll get paid. You won’t have to worry—”
I let out a bitter laugh, cutting him off.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow slightly.
“No, you don’t get it,” he snaps. “I don’t make offers twice. I told you to trust me and quit because I don’t want you exhausting yourself at some shitty job before coming here.”
“That’s not your decision to make!” The words come out louder than I intended, and suddenly, we’re standing too close.
I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat. My hands are shaking slightly, so I clench them at my sides.
And then, before I can stop myself, I blurt out—
“How can I trust you when…when just days after kissing me senseless, I see a woman coming down from your bedroom?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Alex stares at me, stunned, his lips parting slightly like he wasn’t expecting me to say that either.
And I?
I feel exposed and Raw, the heat in my chest spreads to my throat, my ears burning.
Fuck.
I want to take it back. I want to act like I didn’t just say that out loud. But it’s too late, his unreadable gaze stays locked onto mine, and I hate that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I hate that my heart is racing, and I hate that it hurts.
Because why does it hurt?
It’s not like I—
No, I don’t finish that thought.
I can’t.
I look away, jaw clenching so tightly it aches.