Chapter 34 – Flashback to Their Breakup
Alexis sat on the edge of the chaise lounge, the soft fabric pressing into her palms as if grounding her in a reality she wasn't entirely ready to face. The mansion was quiet—a rare lull between the chaos of challenges and producer cues. Sunlight poured through the enormous windows, but the warmth did nothing to calm the storm in her chest. She stared at the floor, picking at a thread in her dress, as her mind betrayed her with a memory she had tried to bury.
It started small, almost innocuous—a text she had meant to send but never did, a coffee they had shared weeks ago, a laugh he had offered that echoed longer than it should have. And then it grew, unbidden and unrelenting, into the memory she could not shake: the day she had left him without explanation.
The memory hit like a sudden gust of wind.
Dante had been there, in their tiny apartment that had once been their sanctuary, pacing the hardwood floor with a frown etched deep into his perfect features. He had noticed it before she could even form the words, his instincts sharp as ever.
"Alexis… what's going on?" he had asked, voice calm but trembling at the edges, like glass under pressure.
She had avoided his gaze, fingers twisting a loose strand of hair into knots. "I… I need to focus on my career," she had murmured, each word tasting like ash. "I can't… I can't have you caught up in all of this."
His eyes had softened, but disappointment lingered, sharp and cutting. "Caught up? Alexis, we're a team. Whatever happens, we face it together."
She shook her head, the words trapped behind the rising lump in her throat. "You don't understand. If you're with me… if you're seen with me… they'll try to tear you down too. Your career, your reputation. You'll get dragged into this, and I… I can't let that happen."
His expression shifted, confusion mingling with hurt. "So what… you're just going to disappear?"
Her chest ached. "I have to," she whispered, voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
And that had been it. She had walked out, leaving him in the apartment filled with sunlight and echoes of laughter, and never looked back.
Back in the present, Alexis exhaled shakily, hands gripping the chaise lounge as though she could anchor herself against the tide of memory. She had made that choice out of love—or at least what she had convinced herself was love. Protecting him had been the excuse, the rationale for the cruelest act she had ever committed: ghosting the only person who had ever truly understood her.
The guilt had never faded. It lingered beneath her skin like a second heartbeat, subtle but relentless. And now, seeing him again, in the same house, under the same glaring cameras, her heart refused to follow reason.
A knock on the door jolted her out of the spiral. "Alexis?" Dante's voice, soft but carrying that familiar mix of patience and insistence.
She swallowed hard. "Yeah… come in."
He entered, leaning casually against the doorframe, though she could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful control in his stance. He studied her, eyes dark and unreadable for a moment, and then sat across from her on the chaise.
"Thinking about the past again?" he asked, voice low, teasing just enough to make her flinch.
Alexis tried to keep her expression neutral. "Maybe," she admitted, voice quiet. "It's hard not to."
He nodded, leaning back slightly, the sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes. "I get that. Believe me, I do. But maybe… it's time to stop letting the past control us, huh?"
Her stomach twisted. "Easy for you to say. You… you didn't have to walk away."
"I did what I thought was right at the time," he said, his tone steady but laced with emotion. "But sitting here, watching you… seeing you… I can't pretend the past doesn't matter. Or that I don't still care."
Alexis's chest tightened. His words, simple as they were, carried the weight of years of unspoken longing, missed opportunities, and pain neither of them had fully unpacked.
Another memory slipped forward, unbidden.
It was a rainy night, and they had argued in the lobby of a film premiere. Cameras flashed incessantly, reporters pressed in, and the world had felt suffocating. Dante had been there, trying to hold her hand, trying to shield her from the relentless glare.
"Alexis, we can face them together," he had said, voice trembling under the pressure. "I don't care what they say."
She had pulled away, tears streaking her makeup, voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "You don't understand! You don't know what it's like to have your career and your heart shredded at the same time!"
He had reached for her again, but she had stepped back, shaking her head. "I can't… I can't risk you for me. I love you too much to let that happen."
And then she had left.
Alexis blinked rapidly, forcing herself back to the present. The mansion's opulent walls and lush gardens had nothing in common with that rainy night, yet the ache in her chest was identical. She had thought leaving was selfless, that cutting off the person she loved was an act of protection. But seeing him now, with his easy confidence and subtle tenderness, she questioned everything.
Dante leaned forward slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "You know, you don't have to explain everything right now," he said softly. "But I need to know… do you regret it?"
Alexis's throat tightened. The word regret felt too small for the weight of her guilt, too insufficient to describe the years of internal punishment she had inflicted on herself. And yet… "Every day," she whispered.
He nodded, a mixture of relief and pain crossing his expression. "Me too," he admitted. "But… maybe we don't have to let the past define the next chapter. We're here. We have a chance, right?"
The simplicity of the statement, the quiet vulnerability behind it, made her heart hammer in her chest. She wanted to argue, to remind herself of the cameras, the manipulation, the stakes—but instead, her walls began to crack.
"I want that," she murmured, voice barely audible. "But I'm scared."
"Scared is fine," he said, voice soft but steady. "It means it matters."
For the first time in years, Alexis allowed herself to lean into the comfort of his presence. It wasn't just proximity; it was a safe harbor, a reminder of what had been lost and what might still be reclaimed. And when his hand brushed hers, tentative but deliberate, she felt a spark ignite—a promise of something new layered over the old pain.
The past hadn't vanished. It lingered in every glance, every breath, every heartbeat. But for the first time, Alexis felt like they could confront it together, not as strangers haunted by memory, but as people who had survived, who had loved fiercely, and who now had the chance to rewrite the story.
She lifted her gaze to his, seeing the same hesitancy, the same longing mirrored back at her. The air between them was taut with possibility, and for the first time, Alexis allowed herself to hope.
"I… I missed you," she whispered.
"I missed you too," he replied, his voice firm, carrying weight and warmth.
And in that quiet moment, amid the opulent chaos of the mansion and the constant glare of cameras, Alexis realized that the past didn't have to dictate the future. They could start again—not perfectly, not without fear, but together.
The memory of heartbreak still throbbed like a distant echo, but it no longer held the power to paralyze her. Instead, it was a reminder of how much they had survived—and how much they still had to fight for.
Alexis exhaled, letting the tension melt, and allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. For the first time since the ghosting, she felt like maybe, just maybe, the next chapter could be theirs to write.
⸻