Chapter 76 – Running Backward
Amber did not kiss Alex the next morning.
She did not look at his mouth.
She did not think about the way his hand had felt at her waist or the way he had said choice like it meant something permanent.
She did not replay the kiss in her head sixteen times before breakfast.
Absolutely not.
Instead—
She woke up early.
Earlier than him.
Earlier than the sun.
And left.
By the time Alex stepped out of his room at 6:10 a.m., the penthouse was already too quiet.
No coffee brewing.
No sarcastic commentary from the kitchen.
No Amber humming off-key like she sometimes did when she thought no one could hear.
Just stillness.
He frowned slightly.
Her door was open.
Bed made.
Empty.
The faintest trace of her perfume lingering in the air like a ghost.
The absence hit harder than expected.
She never left without saying something.
Even if it was just Don't be annoying today.
He checked his phone.
One message.
Amber:
Early meeting. Don't wait up tonight.
Short.
Polite.
Cold.
He read it twice.
Then a third time.
Something was wrong.
—
By noon, Amber had buried herself in work.
Three meetings.
Two brand approvals.
One painfully long call with a sponsorship partner.
Anything that required numbers and strategy and logic.
Things that didn't require feelings.
Feelings were the problem.
Feelings were how women like her lost everything.
She sat in her office, pen tapping against the desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her mind kept drifting.
To last night.
To his voice.
If this scares you, we stop.
He had given her an exit.
No manipulation.
No pressure.
Just… choice.
And somehow that made staying harder.
"Annoying man," she muttered.
Her assistant peeked in. "Ma'am?"
"Nothing. Cancel my two o'clock."
"You have—"
"Cancel it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Amber leaned back in her chair and covered her eyes with her arm.
This was exactly why she had rules.
No attachments.
No dependence.
No one close enough to hurt you.
And now?
Now she could still feel his hands on her.
Like her body had memorized him.
Stupid.
Reckless.
Weak.
She stood abruptly.
"I need air," she told herself.
What she really needed was distance.
—
That night, Alex waited.
He didn't plan to.
He told himself he wasn't.
But he didn't start any late calls.
Didn't open his laptop.
Didn't pour a drink.
He just… waited.
The clock ticked past nine.
Then ten.
Then eleven.
Finally—
The door opened.
Amber walked in, heels in hand, hair slightly messy, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.
"You're awake," she said casually.
"Yes."
"You didn't have to wait."
"I wasn't."
Lie.
She dropped her bag and moved straight for the kitchen, putting space between them immediately.
Too immediately.
Like proximity burned.
Alex watched quietly.
"You left early," he said.
"Work."
"You didn't say anything."
"I texted."
"That's not the same."
She shrugged. "Efficient."
Silence.
Cold.
Formal.
Wrong.
He stepped closer.
She stepped away.
There it was.
Retreat.
"You're avoiding me," he said calmly.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
She opened the fridge just to have something to do. "You're imagining things."
"I don't imagine patterns."
She slammed the fridge a little too hard.
"I'm just busy, Alex. Not everything is emotional."
"Last night was."
Her hand stilled.
There it was.
The thing she didn't want to talk about.
"Last night," she said carefully, "was a mistake."
The word hit him harder than he expected.
"Mistake," he repeated.
"Yes."
She forced herself to look at him.
"We blurred lines. It happens. We move on."
"That's not what you said yesterday."
"Yesterday I wasn't thinking clearly."
"And now you are?"
"Yes."
The lie tasted bitter.
He studied her for a long moment.
"You're scared," he said quietly.
"I'm practical."
"You're running."
"I'm prioritizing stability."
"You're lying."
Her temper flared. "Stop acting like you know me better than I know myself."
"I don't," he said. "But I know avoidance when I see it."
She laughed sharply. "Oh, please. You avoided emotions for years. Don't psychoanalyze me now."
He didn't deny it.
Because she was right.
But that didn't make this easier to watch.
"You think pretending it didn't happen will protect you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"It won't."
"It always has."
"Then why do you look miserable?"
That shut her up.
Her throat tightened.
She hated that he could read her so easily.
"I don't do messy," she said finally. "And this? This is messy."
"Yes," he agreed.
"I built my life so I'd never depend on someone again."
"I'm not asking you to depend on me."
"Feelings lead to that!"
"Only if you let them."
"I don't want to risk it!"
The words burst out louder than she meant.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Fragile.
She looked away first.
"I'd rather step back now," she said quietly, "before it gets worse."
Before you matter too much.
Before losing you hurts too much.
Before I can't leave.
Alex's chest tightened.
He could force this.
Push.
Chase.
Demand honesty.
But that wasn't who he was.
And it definitely wasn't who she needed.
So he did the one thing that hurt most.
He stepped back.
"Okay," he said.
She blinked. "Okay?"
"I won't push you."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
She expected resistance.
Argument.
Fight.
But he just nodded.
Calm.
Controlled.
Respecting her space.
And somehow—
That hurt more.
"Good," she said softly.
"Good," he echoed.
They stood there like strangers.
Two people who had kissed like the world was ending less than twenty-four hours ago.
Now separated by an invisible wall.
Amber headed toward her room.
Hand on the door.
Pause.
Her chest ached.
This was safer.
This was smart.
This was what she wanted.
So why did it feel like loss?
"Goodnight, Alex," she said without turning.
"Goodnight, Amber."
Doors closed.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't peaceful anymore.
It was lonely.
And as Amber lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her chest tight and empty—
She realized something terrifying.
Running didn't feel like protection.
It felt like punishment.
And for the first time—
She wasn't sure who she was trying to save anymore.
Herself.
Or her fear.