Chapter 18
Alexander
Monday
The silence is louder than anything. Her office door clicks shut down the hall, and the entire floor shifts—not with noise, but with absence. I feel it immediately. The way some men feel a storm before it breaks.
She walks past my glass wall like I’m not watching her. Like she doesn’t feel the line of my stare dragging over her body, mapping her, remembering her. Black trousers. Buttoned-up blouse. Hair pulled back so tight she’s practically strangling her own beauty. Trying to make herself small again.
Too late, kitten.
She’s already under my skin. She doesn’t look up. Not once. Not even when she knows I’m watching. And God help me; I want to put my fist through the glass. Instead, I do the civilized thing—bury the ache beneath work. Spreadsheets. Forecasts. Acquisitions.
Meaningless victories that used to be enough.
I signed three contracts without reading them. I snap at Lewis from accounting because his pen was clicking.
I canceled lunch. I forgot to eat. I haven’t touched another woman since her. I haven’t even wanted to. I don’t remember the last one’s name, not that names ever mattered. No promises. No numbers. No attachments. Just bodies. Control. Release.
Then Evelyn happened.
With her quiet glances, stubborn silence, shy dignity, and those tragic fucking eyes—and she ruined everything.
I shouldn’t want her. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. I can’t want her. Wanting her is weakness, and weakness kills. But the silence she leaves behind is worse.
I walk into my private office and lock the door. Sit. Exhale. Close my eyes. And she’s there—Evelyn in that elevator, back arching against the glass, my hand under her dress, moaning my name like I was the only thing tethering her to the world.
She kissed me like she wanted to forget everything. She ran like she regretted it the second she came. I drag a hand down my face. This week is going to kill me.