<b>Chapter 140 </b>
What the hell had just happened?!
That was the question Nivera kept asking herself as she stood rooted where he had left her, staring as though it would bring him back down again, soften his words, and undo the sting.
But the silence was imprable.
Her phone was still clutched in her hand, screen glowing faintly before dimming into ck. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she was gripping it until her palm ached.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she reyed the scene over and over, searching for the moment when it had gone wrong.
She had rushed to him in relief, heart soaring at the sight of him, and he had cut her down like she was nothing.
He hadn’t even looked at her–truly looked–when she had asked him why.
No trace of the man fromst night remained, the one who had pulled her apart and then, against all odds, put her back together with care.
Now he was a stranger again. Distant, cold, and cruel.
As she reyed the scene, every word became sharper than how he had said it.
“I don’t owe you exnations.”
“…remember your ce.”
Her ce. The phrase shed like a de against her skin.
Was that how he saw her? A woman who had no ce in his life?
Her stomach twisted. She remembered his hands on her, the way his touch had gentled in
the aftermath, and the quiet tenderness she hadn’t expected.
That had been real. She had felt it. She wasn’t delusional.
So why now did he look at her as if she were just… disposable?
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Why would he treat someone who had no ce in his life like that?!
Her throat tightened. She told herself not to cry, not to give him that satisfaction even if he
wasn’t here to see.
But the pressure built anyway, her vision blurring as she sank back <i>onto </i>the sofa. She
pulled her knees close, wrapping her arms around them like a shield.
What had she done wrong?
The question looped endlessly. She had been worried–was that a crime? She had cared, stupidly, too much, and he had cut her down for it.
Maybe she had read him wrong all along. Maybe the gentleness she thought she’d seen had been a trick of her exhausted imagination.
Or maybe… maybe he was punishing her for something else.
Her mind churned through possibilities, invasive thoughts wing at her.
Had she been too needy? Too trusting? Was he pulling away because she’d given him too
much power over her?
She pressed her face into her knees, her body trembling with the force of holding everything inside.
Anger red briefly, hot and wild, but it dried out against the wall of confusion and hurt.
She wanted to hate him at that moment. She wanted to rage at him, storm upstairs, and
demand answers. But instead she sat frozen, her voice swallowed by the silence he’d left
behind.
For the first time since falling for him, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.
And yet–pathetically, undeniably–part of her still ached for the sound of him walking back
down those stairs.
She really was a fool.
Upstairs, Alejandro shut his bedroom door with more force than necessary.
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The sharp click of the lock echoed softly, and for a moment he leaned back against the wood, breathing slowly and measured as though he’d juste from battle.
Perhaps he had.
The office, the contracts, Antonio’s confession–none of it had exhausted him half as much as holding himself together in front of Nivera.
He dragged a hand down his face, pacing the edge of the room before tearing his tie loose and tossing it aside.
The silence up here was different than below. Heavy, but not suffocating. It gave him space to give in to the thoughts he refused to pay attention to.
Her face haunted him. The way she had rushed toward him when he walked in, relief pouring out of her like she had been holding her breath all night.
The sharp edge in her voice,ced with worry. The multiple texts and voicemails she had
sent asking if he was okay or giving a sign that he was.
For one dangerous, unguarded moment, he had wanted to pull her into his arms, assure her, bury his face in her neck, and let the warmth of her concern engulf him.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.
And that was exactly why he had cut her down. He had be too close; it wasn’t healthy.
So, he’d gutted her with words he knew would cut.
It was necessary, he told himself.
He moved to the window, tugging the curtains back slightly to stare at the pool of darkness outside.
Necessary, Because he had seen the pathid before him already–the softening edges, the way he cared, and the possibility of slipping. Antonio had proven it could happen. Antonio had fallen.
But he would not.
Love was a weakness. Love was death. Love made menpromise, andpromise got
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men killed. He would never forget the lessons carved into him as a boy, the truths beaten
into his bones.
Besides, it was for her own good as well.
Still, the memory of her lingered. The tremble in her voice, the unshed tears in her eyes when she had asked if she’d done something wrong.
That question had twisted inside him like a knife.
He had wanted to answer. No. You did nothing wrong. But if he had said that, if he had allowed that softness, it would have cracked the wall he had just built.
So instead, he had walked away.
Turning, he poured himself a ss of scotch from the decanter on the dresser, the amber liquid steady in his hand.
The burn down his throat was sharp and just what he needed. He set the ss down hard,
his reflection in the mirror across the room meeting him with the same coldness he forced
into himself.
“She’ll learn,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening. “Better she hates me than
makes me weak.”
But as he turned away, a bitter truth gnawed at him–he hadn’t just hurt her to keep her
distant. He had hurt himself, too.
And he hated her for that.
He hated that she had the power to make him doubt. He hated that her concern had
mattered, that her absence from his day had left a shadow he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.
Alejandro finished the scotch in a single swallow, the heat a poor substitute for the fire raging in his chest.
Nivera… She was a distraction. A temptation, yes, but one he could indulge in without surrendering to it. She would learn to understand her ce. And if she didn’t-
His eyes hardened, his resolve settling like steel.
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08:57 Fri, 22 Aug <b>We </b>
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Then he would remind her again. And again.
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Downstairs, she was probably curled into herself, wondering what she had done. Upstairs,
he told himself this was strength. That keeping her at arm’s length was victory.
And yet, when hey back on the bed and closed his eyes, it wasn’t victory he felt–it was
the echo of her voice, soft and breaking, asking, Did I do something wrong?
His chest tightened.
“Better she breaks now,<i>” </i>he whispered into the dark, “than I doter.”
But the words tasted like ash on his tongue.
He told himself it didn’t matter. He would make sure it didn’t.
Even if it killed him.