The penthouse was unusually quiet that night.
No staff. No music. Just the soft hum of the city beyond the glass walls.
I was in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water, when I noticed Alexander standing by the window. His jacket was gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He looked less like a billionaire and more like a man carrying too much weight.
He didn't turn when I entered.
"You didn't eat," I said.
"I wasn't hungry."
"That's a lie."
A pause.
"You're observant," he replied.
I hesitated, then set my glass down. "Vivian again?"
His shoulders stiffened slightly.
"She contacted my board," he said. "Questioned my judgment."
"That's crossing a line."
"She's good at that."
I stepped closer, keeping a careful distance. "Why does she still have access to your life?"
He laughed quietly, without humor. "Because I once gave it to her."
The words surprised me.
"You loved her," I said.
He didn't deny it.
"Yes."
The admission landed harder than I expected.
"And now?" I asked softly.
He turned then, his gaze unreadable. "Now I don't trust love."
Silence stretched between us.
"You don't trust me either," I said.
"This isn't about trust," he replied. "It's about control."
"That sounds lonely."
Something flickered across his face—annoyance, maybe pain.
"Lonely is manageable," he said. "Unpredictable isn't."
I folded my arms. "So you built rules."
"Yes."
"And walls."
"Yes."
I exhaled slowly. "Do they work?"
For the first time since I met him, Alexander hesitated.
"Most days."
That was the crack.
I took a step closer. "And tonight?"
His gaze held mine. "Tonight is… difficult."
The honesty stunned me.
"You don't have to do this alone," I said quietly.
He scoffed. "You're here because of a contract."
"Maybe," I replied. "But I'm still human."
His eyes darkened.
"That," he said softly, "is the problem."
The space between us shrank. Not because he moved—but because neither of us stepped back.
"Alexander," I whispered.
He looked down at me, something dangerous and uncertain in his eyes.
"Don't," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because if I start…" His voice dropped. "I won't stop."
My heart raced. "Start what?"
He reached out, stopping just inches from my face. His fingers hovered, not touching.
"This," he said. "Breaking the rules."
I swallowed hard. "You already are."
His jaw tightened.
"I shouldn't want to protect you," he admitted. "I shouldn't care what she says to you. And I definitely shouldn't feel like tearing apart anyone who looks at you the wrong way."
My breath caught.
"That's not strategic," I whispered.
"No," he agreed. "It's emotional."
For a moment, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, he dropped his hand and stepped back sharply.
"This ends now," he said coldly. "Go to your room."
The sudden shift hurt more than I expected.
"Alexander—"
"Go," he repeated.
I turned and walked away, my chest tight, my heart racing.
Inside my room, I closed the door and leaned against it, shaking.
Behind the wall, I heard the soft thud of something hitting glass.
A fist.
And for the first time since signing the contract, I understood something clearly.
The rules weren't there to protect me.
They were there to protect him—from himself.