Chapter 19
Evelyn
Wednesday
I shouldn’t notice the change in him. But I do.
Alexander Hunt—Mr. Ice Veins and Iron Discipline—hasn’t been himself this week.
He’s colder. Snaps more. His voice has lost that effortless calm it usually cuts with.
He doesn’t even bark orders at me anymore; he just looks, and I move.
It unnerves me more than his anger ever did.
It’s like he’s trying to control a storm building inside him.
And I’m the lightning rod he refuses to release.
I take a breath before stepping into his office with his late afternoon coffee—black, hot, no sugar. The usual. I tell myself it means nothing. That I’m just doing my job. But the moment I open the door, I freeze.
He’s not alone. There’s another man seated across from him—similar jawline, softer eyes, messier hair, all leather jacket and playful charm. He turns toward me the second I enter, lips already curling into a grin. “Oh,” he says. “So, you’re Evelyn.”
Alexander straightens in his chair like someone just pulled a gun on him.
I blink. “I’m sorry—was this a private meeting?” The stranger stands and steps forward, offering his hand.
“Nope. Just family. I’m Aiden. The emotionally stable, less terrifying Hunt brother.”
I hesitate, then shake it. His grip is warm. Too warm. Like he knows something I don’t want him to know. Alexander rises slowly behind his desk, jaw tight. “She’s not a conversation, Aiden.”
“She’s not a ghost either,” Aiden fires back, still watching me. “You gonna offer her a chair or keep pretending she didn’t just short-circuit the room?”
I look at Alexander. His eyes haven’t left mine. And there’s something there—something frayed and furious and terrified. “Here’s your coffee,” I whisper, setting it down on the desk. My fingers brush the wood, too close to his. I turn to leave.
But Aiden calls out before I make it to the door. “You’re the reason he’s like this, you know.”
I pause. Swallow hard. Alexander growls, “Aiden—”
“No, really. You should know. He hasn’t been this wrecked since…” He stops himself. Then shrugs. “Ever.”
I don’t turn around. I just left. And for the first time in days…
I don’t feel like I’m the only one falling apart.
I slam the door to my office harder than I mean to.
My hands are shaking. Not from fear. Not entirely.
From something worse. From confusion. How dare he.
Not Alexander—his brother. That smug little golden boy with his charming smirk and emotional x-ray vision.
He looked at me like he already knew my story. Like he’d already read the ending and pitied me for it. You’re the reason he’s like this. What the hell does that even mean?
I sit at my desk, heart racing, and throat tight.
Alexander has barely spoken to me this week.
He hasn’t texted. He hasn’t touched me. He doesn’t even look at me unless he must. And yet somehow, I’m the villain in his spiral?
Bullshit. This isn’t a slow-burn office romance.
This isn’t some dark fairytale with secrets and redemption.
This is a man who had his fun, got what he wanted, and is now too much of a coward to admit it meant something.
I’m not special to him. I’m not even real.
I’m just another toy. His favorite toy, maybe.
But toys still get broken. Or worse replaced.
And the worst part? Some sick, twisted, lonely part of me wants him to prove me wrong.
Fifteen minutes of silent fury. Of chewing the inside of my cheek and replaying Aiden’s voice in my head like a song I can’t delete.
“You’re the reason he’s like this.” He has no right. Alexander has no rights.
This isn’t my fault. His silence. His glowering. His goddamn ice-cold avoidance? That’s his problem. Not mine.
I’m done.
He doesn’t get to break me open and then sulk like he’s the one who bled.
My heels echo with each furious step towards his office. I don’t knock. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting. I don’t care if the boards are on a call. I’m going to tell him— I open the door. And stop breathing for what felt like centuries.
He’s alone. Seated behind his massive desk.
Suit jacket discarded. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled up.
A half-empty glass of amber whiskey in one hand, resting loosely against his thigh.
His head is tilted back, eyes closed, like the ceiling is holding him together.
The sharp, calculated beast of a man I know?
Gone.
This… this is a man unmade. Something in my chest crumbles.
I don’t think. I just move. My feet carry me forward before I even realize it. Around the desk. Past the cold edge of reason. He doesn’t look up. Not until my hands rest gently on his shoulders. Only then do his eyes open—red around the edges, dark and quiet. Not dangerous.
“I came to yell at you,” I whisper.
His lip twitches. But not into a smirk. It’s something sadder. Weaker. “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
My fingers tightened, just slightly. And then—without thinking, without knowing why—I step in closer… and wrap my arms around him. I expect him to push me away. To flinch. To stiffen. To tell me not to. But he doesn’t.
He lets me.
I hear him crying.
He melts into me, forehead resting lightly against my stomach, one hand still gripping the glass like it’s the only thing grounding him.
The other… lifts slowly… and curls around my waist. He breathes me in like I’m the first clean air he’s had in years. And I held him. Not as my boss. Not as my mistake. But as a man who’s finally dropped his armor.