Alex's POV.
Another week bled by. Another week of me doing everything I could think of—late-night walks, ice cream runs, midnight pancake runs in pajamas and star-watching, riding bikes downhill with no hands, even if it's stupidly dangerous.
I was writing myself into her story. Page by page. Date by date. But the closer we got, the more reckless I felt. Mia kept whispering in my ear: Don't let Chris get his turn. Seal the deal before he steps in.
And by Day Six of the second week, temptation nearly ate me alive. It happened at my place.
Big mistake, I know. Felicity never liked going to guys' houses. But it was raining, her umbrella broke, and I offered shelter.
She hesitated at the doorway like she was standing at the gates of madness.
"Alex…"
"Relax," I said softly, holding out my hoodie. "Just till the storm passes."
She bit her lip but stepped inside. And I swear on my sanity, the sight of her in my clothes, hair dripping, cheeks flushed—it was too much. I leaned too close. My hand brushed her arm. Her breath hitched.
And for one terrifying, intoxicating second, I kissed her—and wanted more. My lips trailed toward her neck before she suddenly pushed me back, eyes wide.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, breathless.
"You're beautiful tonight," I murmured, reckless words spilling out. "So mesmerizing. Be with me…sleep with me."
Her shock cut through the haze. "What the heck, Alex? No way. What's gotten into you?"
"You're irresistible," I pressed, leaning closer, desperate. "Don't you feel it too? Don't you want this—want me—tonight?"
Her palms pushed against my chest, firm this time. "No. Stop. Please don't do this."
And in that instant, I knew—I had almost ruined everything. Because the door slammed open.
Christopher stood there, soaked from the storm outside, fury burning in his eyes so hot it made the thunder sound like a whisper.
"Step away from her."
I froze. Felicity gasped.
And only then—only then—did I realize what he had done.
"What the heck are you doing here? How do you know where I live?" I demanded.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
His fist came out of nowhere. Pain exploded across my jaw, the metallic tang of blood already on my tongue before I hit the floor. Christopher towered over me, rain dripping off him, eyes like fire. His voice thundered, every syllable laced with that razor-sharp bite.
"How dare you touch her like that? Are you out of your bloody mind? You've a filthy death wish, you bastard!"
Felicity gasped, rushing between us, but it was too late. Rage roared in my chest, and before I could think, I lunged. My fist connected with his ribs, a crack of knuckles meeting bone.
He staggered back, cursing under his breath. "You've lost it, Alex. Absolutely lost it."
I wiped the blood from my mouth, adrenaline burning through me. "Don't stand there like you're her saviour, Christopher. You don't own her."
His laugh was low, dangerous. "And you think forcing yourself on her does? You're pathetic."
Christopher didn't wait for me to stand fully. He lunged again, fists like thunder. I ducked one swing, but the second caught me across the temple. White-hot pain flashed behind my eyes.
"Think you can treat her like she's some bloody trophy?" he spat, grabbing my collar. His accent made every word cut deeper, like steel.
I snarled, shoving him back with every ounce of strength I had. "And you think you're her knight in shining armour? You're nothing but a fraud—with no crown!"
My fist connected with his jaw—hard. He stumbled, then rammed into me, sending us both crashing into the flood pooling across my floor.
Felicity screamed. But neither of us stopped.
He drove his shoulder into me, pinning me down. I twisted, slammed my knee into his ribs, flipping him onto the ground. My hands curled into fists, ready for another blow.
"Alexander! Christopher! Stop!"
Her voice barely cut through the haze. All I saw was his face—smug, furious, daring me to go one more round. The room was electric: her eyes wide, my heart hammering, his chest heaving. And I swear, for one mad second, I almost went for him again.
"You're weak," he hissed, blood running from his lip. "That's why she'll never choose you."
Red mist. I swung again—he blocked, grabbed my arm, drove his elbow into my gut. Air left my lungs in a rush.
"BOYS, STOP!!"
Her scream shattered everything. We froze. Both of us, panting, bruised, trembling with rage, turned toward her.
Felicity stood there—eyes blazing, cheeks wet, hair wild from the chaos. And for the first time, she didn't look torn between us. She looked furious.
"What the heck—come on! What is wrong with you two?" Her voice cracked, but it was sharp enough to slice us both open.
The silence that followed was deafening. My fists still clenched, his chest still heaving, but her eyes…gosh, her eyes burned hotter than any punch could.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying: neither of us was winning her. We were both losing her.
But then I saw Felicity—shaking, clutching her arms, looking at me like I wasn't the boy she used to trust. And that cut deeper than his punch ever could.
"Chris, what are you doing here? How did you know where Alex lived? I need answers," she asked.
"It's a long story—but come with me," he said quickly.
"I'm not going anywhere until you answer my question," she pressed.
"I tracked your phone, capiche? If I hadn't, who knows what Alex would've done to you. Please, let's go. Come with me."
Her face drained of colour. "What the heck? You don't even hear yourself. Just—stop. I can take care of myself. And Alex…" She turned to me, voice cracking. "…I'm really, really sorry."
"I—Felicity, I'm sorry too. I don't know what got into me," I stammered, guilt eating me alive.
She shook her head. "I need some space to think. I'll see you tomorrow."
And just like that, she walked out with him. He'd tracked her phone. The bastard.