Chapter 23
Monday. 7:15 a.m.
"Ready?" Alexandra stood by the front door. Keys in his hand. Suit. No tie. Same as always.
I nodded. Grabbed my bag. "Yeah."
We went to the office together. Like last week. Like before Sunday. Like nothing happened. Like everything happened.
In the car. 7:22 a.m.
I tried. "Did you sleep okay?"
He drove. Eyes on the road. Jaw set. He didn't answer.
The radio was off. The city moved past the windows. Gray. Quiet.
"Elias sent the—" I stopped. His name felt wrong in my mouth now. In this car. With him. "The clause rewrite. It's good. I think Legal will clear it."
He changed lanes. Still nothing.
I looked out the window. Counted buildings. One. Two. Three.
Fine. If he wanted quiet, he could have it.
We didn't speak for the rest of the ride.
---
Penthouse. 7:04 p.m.
I came home first. Dropped my bag. Kicked off my heels. The house was empty. Cold.
I felt bad. Not sad like yesterday at Rosehill. Bad like I'd swallowed something sharp. Bad like I'd done something and didn't know what. Bad because he was mad and I didn't know how to fix it.
I went to my room. Didn't turn the lights on. Sat on the edge of the bed. Just sat.
I heard the front door at 7:31. His steps. No pause in the foyer. No stop at the kitchen.
My door was open. He stopped in it.
He didn't come in. He just stood there. Hands in his pockets. Looking at me. Not through me. At me.
"You didn't eat," he said.
I shrugged. "Wasn't hungry."
He nodded. Once. Then he walked in. Not to me. To the window. Looked out. At the city. Same one I counted this morning.
"It was business," he said. To the glass. "This weekend. The board. Shanghai. It was… messy."
I waited. He didn't say more.
"That's why I was—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't angry at you."
I stood up. Slow. "Okay."
He turned then. Finally. "You thought I was."
"You were quiet. You didn't talk to me. You looked at me like I did something."
"I know." He exhaled. Like the word cost him. "I'm not good at… this."
"This?"
He waved a hand. At the room. At me. At the air between us. "Talking. Explaining. It wasn't you. It was work. It won't happen again."
I didn't know if I believed him. I didn't know if it mattered. My chest still hurt. But it hurt less. Because he was here. Because he said something.
"Okay," I said again.
He took a step closer. Not touching. Just closer. The light from the hallway cut across his face. Half in shadow. Half out.
"You look tired," he said.
Middle of the conversation. No reason. Just words.
I looked up. Met his eyes. Gray. Not cold. Not flat. Tired too.
"You too," I said.
We looked at each other. Really looked. Not past. Not through. At. One second. Two. Three.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back up. Fast. Like he didn't mean to. Like he couldn't help it.
My breath caught. His did too. I heard it.
He stepped back. Broke it. "Get some rest. I'll tell Maria to send up soup."
He left. Didn't close the door. Just walked out.
I sat back on the bed. Put a hand to my chest. My heart was loud. Stupid. Confused.
It wasn't you. That's what he said.
But the way he looked at me. The way he didn't look away.
Maybe it was me. Maybe that was the problem.
We continued. He went to his office. I stayed in my room. The house was quiet again.
But it was a different quiet now.
---
Saved to memory – Chapter 23 canon:
Monday after cemetery visit. Alexandra and Katrina go to office together in the car. She tries to start conversation; he is silent/cold. She stops talking.
At home that night, Katrina feels bad. Alexandra comes to her room. He tells her he wasn't angry at her, says it was "business/Shanghai/board" that made him act that way. He says it won't happen again.
Middle of conversation, Alexandra says "You look tired." They look each other in the eye for several seconds. He glances at her mouth then back to her eyes before stepping back.
No confession of jealousy. No mention of Elias. Issue is deflected as "business." Relationship resumes but tension remains. Physical awareness increases.Chapter 23
Monday. 7:15 a.m.
"Ready?" Alexandra stood by the front door. Keys in his hand. Suit. No tie. Same as always.
I nodded. Grabbed my bag. "Yeah."
We went to the office together. Like last week. Like before Sunday. Like nothing happened. Like everything happened.
In the car. 7:22 a.m.
I tried. "Did you sleep okay?"
He drove. Eyes on the road. Jaw set. He didn't answer.
The radio was off. The city moved past the windows. Gray. Quiet.
"Elias sent the—" I stopped. His name felt wrong in my mouth now. In this car. With him. "The clause rewrite. It's good. I think Legal will clear it."
He changed lanes. Still nothing.
I looked out the window. Counted buildings. One. Two. Three.
Fine. If he wanted quiet, he could have it.
We didn't speak for the rest of the ride.
---
Penthouse. 7:04 p.m.
I came home first. Dropped my bag. Kicked off my heels. The house was empty. Cold.
I felt bad. Not sad like yesterday at Rosehill. Bad like I'd swallowed something sharp. Bad like I'd done something and didn't know what. Bad because he was mad and I didn't know how to fix it.
I went to my room. Didn't turn the lights on. Sat on the edge of the bed. Just sat.
I heard the front door at 7:31. His steps. No pause in the foyer. No stop at the kitchen.
My door was open. He stopped in it.
He didn't come in. He just stood there. Hands in his pockets. Looking at me. Not through me. At me.
"You didn't eat," he said.
I shrugged. "Wasn't hungry."
He nodded. Once. Then he walked in. Not to me. To the window. Looked out. At the city. Same one I counted this morning.
"It was business," he said. To the glass. "This weekend. The board. Shanghai. It was… messy."
I waited. He didn't say more.
"That's why I was—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't angry at you."
I stood up. Slow. "Okay."
He turned then. Finally. "You thought I was."
"You were quiet. You didn't talk to me. You looked at me like I did something."
"I know." He exhaled. Like the word cost him. "I'm not good at… this."
"This?"
He waved a hand. At the room. At me. At the air between us. "Talking. Explaining. It wasn't you. It was work. It won't happen again."
I didn't know if I believed him. I didn't know if it mattered. My chest still hurt. But it hurt less. Because he was here. Because he said something.
"Okay," I said again.
He took a step closer. Not touching. Just closer. The light from the hallway cut across his face. Half in shadow. Half out.
"You look tired," he said.
Middle of the conversation. No reason. Just words.
I looked up. Met his eyes. Gray. Not cold. Not flat. Tired too.
"You too," I said.
We looked at each other. Really looked. Not past. Not through. At. One second. Two. Three.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back up. Fast. Like he didn't mean to. Like he couldn't help it.
My breath caught. His did too. I heard it.
He stepped back. Broke it. "Get some rest. I'll tell Maria to send up soup."
He left. Didn't close the door. Just walked out.
I sat back on the bed. Put a hand to my chest. My heart was loud. Stupid. Confused.
It wasn't you. That's what he said.
But the way he looked at me. The way he didn't look away.
Maybe it was me. Maybe that was the problem.
We continued. He went to his office. I stayed in my room. The house was quiet again.
But it was a different quiet now.