Chapter 3: The Almost-Confession
Evelyn's POV
I curl up on the balcony lounge chair, knees pressed to my chest, staring at Manhattan's skyline. The city sprawls out below, a million lights that used to feel magical. Tonight they just blur.
Duty. Not love.
Victoria's words loop in my head. I've always known the truth. But hearing it from his mother's mouth makes it impossible to breathe.
The apartment door opens behind me.
Alexander sweeps the living room with his eyes. Empty. Kitchen. Nobody. His heart races.
Where is she?
His gaze lands on the curled figure on the balcony. His chest tightens. He's seen her sit like this three times before: the night Grandpa Jack died, the day her father remarried without telling her, and now.
He grabs his suit jacket from the coat rack. Takes a deep breath. Pushes open the glass door. Cold wind hits his face, but he only sees her.
Warm fabric drops over my shoulders. I freeze. That familiar cologne wraps around me. Alexander's suit jacket.
"Marcus told me my mother met with you."
His voice is softer than usual.
I don't look at him. Don't want him to see my red eyes.
"You didn't have to come back early."
"Yes, I did."
He's not standing at his usual safe distance. He crouches down, making our eyes level. The gesture is too intimate. My heart starts beating irregularly.
"What did she say to you?"
His voice hardens.
"The truth. That our marriage was a business arrangement. That you married me out of duty. That someone like me doesn't belong in the Sterling world."
I laugh, but it sounds bitter even to my own ears.
"She had no right to—"
"She had every right. She's your mother. And she's not wrong."
I finally look at him.
Something burns in those gray-blue eyes. Anger? Guilt? Or am I reading into nothing again?
His jaw tightens. His hands clench into fists, knuckles white. I watch his Adam's apple move, like he's suppressing something.
"Why did you marry me, Alexander? Really?"
My voice trembles.
This is it. The moment he could tell her everything.
Because even on that first day, something in you called to something in me. Because you're the only person who makes me feel human instead of like a machine programmed to fulfill expectations. Because I'm in love with you.
The air freezes. I look at him, waiting. He opens his mouth, then closes it.
My heart sinks.
"Because my grandfather asked me to. Because your grandfather was his best friend. Because it was the right thing to do."
His voice comes out stiff.
I feel like someone just shot me in the chest.
Wrong answer. I knew it was the wrong answer. But hearing him say it out loud, that I was just another item on his duty checklist, makes something inside me shatter.
I stand up. Too fast. A little dizzy. I take his jacket off my shoulders, hand it back to him. My hands shake.
"Thank you for being honest."
I force myself to smile.
"That's not... I didn't mean it like that."
"It's okay. I knew what this was from the beginning. I just... I let myself forget sometimes."
"What if you didn't have to divorce me?"
The air freezes again. I stare at him, stunned.
"What?"
"The contract says three years. But it doesn't say we have to end things at three years. What if we... extended it?"
He takes a step forward.
Extended the contract. Not "stay with me." Not "I want you." Extended. The. Contract.
My nails dig deep into my palms. The pain keeps me awake, keeps me from crying right here.
"Extended the contract."
My voice sounds hollow.
"Yes. If you wanted. No pressure. Just... we work well together. As roommates. As partners."
Roommates. Partners. Not husband and wife. Not people in love.
"I'll think about it."
I turn toward the glass door.
"Evelyn—"
"Good night, Alexander."
I don't turn back.
I push open the glass door, walk into the dark living room. Before closing my bedroom door, I glance back one more time. He stands on the balcony, his silhouette lonely against the city lights.
I close the door and slide down to sit on the floor.
Alexander sits at his desk, staring at the air. That's when Marcus knocks and comes in.
"Mr. Sterling, today's materials."
Alexander takes the documents, looks at them absently. Marcus stands across the desk, clearly wanting to say something.
The silence stretches for a few seconds.
"How did the conversation go last night, sir?"
Alexander runs both hands through his hair.
"I asked her to extend the contract."
Marcus blinks.
"I'm sorry, you did what?"
"I panicked. I was trying to tell her I want her to stay, but it came out all wrong."
"Sir, with all due respect, and I mean this professionally... you're an idiot."
Alexander looks up, shocked.
"Marcus—"
"You asked your wife, whom you love, to extend your business arrangement. Do you not see the problem here?"
"I was trying to keep her from leaving!"
Alexander's voice mixes anger and helplessness.
"By offering her more of what's making her miserable? Sir, she doesn't want a contract extension. She wants you."
Marcus's eyes widen in disbelief.
"You don't know that."
Alexander's voice drops low.
"I've worked for you for six years. I know how Mrs. Sterling looks at you when you're not watching. The same way you look at her. Like she's the only real thing in your world."
Marcus is careful but firm.
"The gala for the Veterans' Children Foundation is next week. Your mother will be there. So will Mrs. Sterling."
He pauses.
"And so will Miss Hartwell."
"Hartwell? Sylvia Hartwell? Why?"
Alexander looks up.
"Her organization is the charity partner this year. I thought you knew."
Alexander sighs. He feels a wave of trouble coming.
"Sir, this is your chance to show Mrs. Sterling how you really feel. Publicly. Clearly. But if you're going to do it, you need to be brave."
Marcus pauses.
"No more contracts. No more safe distance. Just truth."
Alexander turns to look out at Manhattan's skyline.
"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"
"Then at least you'll know. But I don't think that's the outcome you need to worry about, sir."
Marcus's voice is gentle but firm.
Alexander continues to stare out the window. His reflection shows in the glass. Marcus quietly leaves the office.
Alexander picks up his phone, opens that hidden album. Three years of photos about Evelyn. Photos he took without her knowing, ones she sent by mistake, any proof that she's real in his life.
He slides to the most recent photo: yesterday's Aphrodite sculpture she accidentally sent him.
After a long moment, he locks the screen and sits in his chair. Sunlight streams through the window onto his face, his expression hidden in shadow.
