AMARA'S POV
The next few days blurred into one long, exhausting stretch of meetings, presentations, and endless negotiations.
We moved from one boardroom to another — coffee in hand, emotions tucked away like something fragile neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
The morning warmth between us was gone.
Replaced by walls.
Cold, silent, unbreakable walls.
Alexander had returned to being himself — sharp, composed, untouchable.
The man who laughed that morning? He'd vanished completely.
And yet, every now and then, I'd catch something flicker in his expression.
A pause too long. A stare that lingered.
A single heartbeat of softness before he locked it all away again.
But he never slipped. Not in front of others.
He was the Alexander Voss everyone feared — the kind who could walk into a room and make seasoned executives trip over their own sentences.
And I… I followed.
Took notes. Presented figures. Nodded when spoken to.
Every word between us was strictly business. Every look, detached.
Still, something unspoken hung in the air between us — like static before a storm.
It made breathing around him too easy and too hard all at once.
By the sixth day, we'd closed the deal.
A massive one — the kind that could change everything for our company.
The board was ecstatic, investors impressed.
We should've been celebrating.
But inside the conference room, as hands were shaken and congratulations passed around, I just felt… tired.
When everyone finally dispersed, I slumped in my chair and exhaled. "We actually did it."
Alexander, standing beside the window, barely looked at me. "Of course we did."
I frowned. "You could at least pretend to be impressed."
He adjusted his cufflinks. "I don't pretend."
There it was again — the ice.
Sharp, cutting, effortless.
I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible."
He didn't reply, but I swore I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he turned away.
That night, we returned to the hotel later than usual. The city outside buzzed — cars, lights, laughter from the streets below.
I sat by the window, watching it all while he typed away on his laptop.
It was strange — we were in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, yet it felt like we were trapped in two separate cages.
After a long silence, I finally spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
He didn't look up. "You just did."
I bit back a sigh. "I mean seriously."
That made him glance up — expression unreadable, voice low. "What is it?"
"I want to explore the city before we fly back tomorrow."
His brows lifted slightly. "Alone?"
"Yes. I won't be gone long — maybe a few hours."
He studied me for a moment, leaning back against the chair.
"You think that's wise?"
"I'm not asking for your permission, Alexander. I'm just informing you."
That earned me a small, humorless smirk. "You're aware of how that sounds, right?"
"Yes," I said simply. "And I don't care."
For a moment, silence filled the space again — heavy but not hostile. His gaze lingered on me, and I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused.
Then he finally said, "Fine. Don't get lost."
I blinked, surprised. "That's it?"
He shrugged. "You'll probably call me if you do."
I wanted to argue — to remind him that I didn't need him — but something about his tone stopped me.
It wasn't arrogant. It wasn't cold.
It was… cautious. Almost protective, though he'd rather die than admit it.
I looked back out at the city lights, hiding the smile tugging at my lips.
"Maybe I won't call," I murmured.
His reply came quietly, almost to himself.
"You will."
And for reasons I couldn't explain, that single word — calm, confident, faintly amused — followed me long after he turned off the lights.