Lyla’s POV

The next morning starts with a headache so sharp I swear someone is squeezing my skull like a stress ball.

I groan and push myself off the bed, squinting at the faint glow of Boston’s winter sun peeking through my blinds.

I don’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing I recall was staring at the ceiling and replaying yesterday’s conversation with Alexander on an endless loop.

You’re overwhelmed.

You don’t have to pretend with me.

The rest is… something else.

What is something else? Why say it like that? Why look at me like that?

Great!. Now my headache is worse.

I drag myself into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and pull my hair into a presentable bun.

As I stare at my reflection, mascara wand in hand, a tiny voice whispers, “Why does he notice things Ryan doesn’t?”

I shut the thought down immediately.

Nope, not going there.

By the time I’m grabbing my coat and locking the door behind me, I’ve mentally rehearsed a pep talk.

Focus on work. Focus on the wedding. Ignore your confusing boss. Everything is fine.

~

The moment I step through the glass doors, I sense something is off.

People gather in groups whispering, side-eyeing, and tapping each other’s shoulders like something interesting is happening.

My stomach drops.

“Please don’t let it be me,” I mumble.

Hazel, my co-worker and my best friend, meets me halfway across the lobby, wild-eyed. “Oh my God, Lyla. There you are.”

“What now?” I whisper, bracing myself.

“You need to breathe. Just… inhale something, oxygen. Anything.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the hallway. “Alexander’s in rare form today. Like, frostbite-level mood. Something happened this morning. No one knows what, but he’s pacing and glaring. Breathing like he’s plotting world domination.”

I blink. “He breathes like he’s plotting world domination every day.”

“Yes, but today he’s doing it louder.”

We reach my desk, and Hazel lowers her voice. “Just be careful. If he snaps, you’ll be in the first blast radius.”

My pulse kicks up.

Perfect… Exactly what I need.

My boss is in meltdown mode while I’m hanging by a thread.

“Thanks for the warning,” I mutter.

She squeezes my shoulder and heads off.

I barely sit before I hear it.

“Anderson.”

His voice is sharp enough to cut steel.

I stand instantly. “Yes, Mr. Sterling?”

Alexander stands outside his office, expression carved from granite. But his eyes… His eyes dart over my face for a split second, checking me. Relief flickers there briefly, which makes zero sense.

“Inside,” he says.

I follow him, heart pounding. He shuts the door, but instead of launching into instructions, he pauses behind his desk, hands flat against the surface.

His jaw flexes. His shoulders are tight. He is controlling something. Hard.

“Is everything okay?” I ask carefully.

“No.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

I wait, unsure if speaking again will get me fired.

Finally, he exhales slowly. “There’s an issue with the Zurich branch. Delays. Miscommunication. And of course, it's happening the week before our major review.”

His tone is cold and clipped, but beneath it… he sounds tired. Human. Frustrated.

“Can I help?” I ask.

“You already are.” He gestures to a stack of documents. “I need you to reorganize these reports. Prioritize everything marked in red. Then…”

His voice catches. Just slightly.

I look up sharply.

“Are you… alright?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

His eyes lift to mine. Something flickers there… something raw, quickly buried. “I didn’t sleep.”

“Work?”

He hesitates. “Partially.”

“And the other part?”

He looks at me longer than he should. “Nothing that concerns you.”

It stings, even though it shouldn’t.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll get started.”

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Anderson.”

I look back.

His expression softens, just barely. “Thank you.”

Two simple words. But from him, it feels like a revelation.

I nod, unable to speak, and leave his office.

~

I drop the paperwork on my table with a sigh.

Hazel immediately leans in, and Jamie follows and asks, “Did he burn you alive? Do you need a medic?”

“No. He’s just… on edge.”

“Like an angry edge or brooding edge?” Hazel questions.

“Uh… somewhere between volcanic and emotionally repressed.”

“So… normal.” Hazel replies.

Jamie lowers her voice. “You okay, though? You look pale.”

“I’m fine. Just stressed.”

“Wedding?”

“Wedding. Work. Ryan.” I exhale. “Everything.”

She tilts her head. “Are you and Ryan doing alright?”

“Yeah.” The lie tastes metallic. “Just busy.”

“Mhm.” Her eyebrows do the judgment thing again. “Well… if you need to talk…”

“I know.”

But I don’t talk. Not to Jamie. Not to Ryan. Not to Hazel or anyone. Because the more I talk, the more real everything becomes.

~

(In the afternoon)

I sit alone at the small café across the street, stirring a soup I’m not eating.

My phone buzzes with a text from Ryan:

`Will call you later. Crazy morning.`

I type "Okay," but I don’t send it. Instead, I stare at the blinking cursor.

He hasn’t asked about the invitations.

He hasn’t asked about my day.

He hasn’t asked if I’m sleeping or eating or losing my mind.

When did he stop noticing me?

I’m still staring at the unsent message when someone says quietly, “May I sit?”

I look up and see Alexander Sterling standing beside my table.

My soul leaves my body.

“Um… sure,” I manage.

He sits across from me, not stiffly, surprisingly. More like someone who needs a moment away from people.

For a minute, we say nothing.

He studies me, eyes gentle in a way that makes my chest ache. “You’re not eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You skipped breakfast.”

My head snaps up. “How do you know that?”

“You looked faint this morning.” He says it matter-of-factly, like observing my nutritional habits is normal boss behavior.

“Well, I had water,” I mumble.

He stares. “Water is not food.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then eat.”

Is he… bossing my stomach?

I pick up my spoon and eat one bite. Just to prove a point.

“Better?” he asks.

“A little.”

He nods, but he doesn’t leave. He just sits there, silent, almost thoughtful.

“Why are you here?” I ask softly.

“Because you looked like you needed someone to sit with.”

The words hit me harder than they should.

I look down at my soup, blinking away the sudden burn in my eyes.

“You don’t have to… do that,” I whisper.

“I know.” His voice warms. “But I also know that pretending you’re fine doesn’t make anything better.”

My throat tightens.

He sees too much.

He sees me.

And that scares me more than anything.

I force a small breath. “I’m just stressed. That’s all.”

“That’s not all.”

His certainty is dangerous.

“Lyla.”

My head snaps up. He rarely uses my first name.

“You’re carrying too much,” he says quietly. “And no one should do that alone.”

Emotions swell in my chest… fear, relief, and confusion, mixing until they’re indistinguishable.

Before I can reply, his phone buzzes. He checks the screen, jaw tightening.

“I need to go,” he murmurs. “But… eat.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he stands and walks away, coat sweeping behind him.

I sit there, spoon in hand, heart hammering against my ribs.

This is getting dangerous. Not because of anything he said.

But because of how it made me feel.

~

By the time the workday ends, I’m already mentally exhausted.

Ryan texted me , `How’s your day?`, hours ago. I told him it was fine. I didn’t say anything real.

He didn’t answer anyway.

When I get home, the apartment is empty as always. I drop my bag on the couch, kick off my shoes, and sink down beside them.

The silence is suffocating.

I pull my legs up and rest my forehead on my knees. I don’t cry, exactly, but something inside me aches so deeply it might as well be crying.

My phone buzzes again. I pick it up instinctively, hoping it’s Ryan, even though I don’t know what I’d say if it was.

But it’s not Ryan.

It’s Alexander.

ALEXANDER STERLING:

`Don’t forget the early draft.`

That’s it.

A reminder.

Cold. Professional. Detached.

But somehow… somehow it hits me harder than it should.

I type out a polite `Got it` but don’t send it.

Instead, I stare at the unsent message and whisper into the empty apartment:

“What is happening to me?”

I don’t have the answer.

But the crack in the seam, the one between my job and my wedding, between Ryan and Alexander, between who I am and who I’m pretending to be… It's growing.

And I can feel it.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

One tug away from tearing open completely.

Lyla's POV

I sit at my desk pretending to focus on my screen. In reality, I’m watching people hang a giant silver banner that says GOODBYE OLD YEAR! but the “D” in GOODBYE keeps falling off, turning it into GOO BYE. Honestly, it feels appropriate for the way my life is going.

The whole office looks like it overdosed on caffeine and confetti. Everywhere I turn, someone is stringing up lights, blowing up balloons, or arguing about which playlist screams “New Year’s Eve corporate fun” without sounding like a bad wedding DJ.

“Stop frowning,” Hazel says, sliding into the chair beside mine with a bounce of glossy hair and cinnamon perfume. “Your face is going to stick that way.”

I didn’t hear her walk up. Hazel always moves like she’s floating, light and confident, smiling at everyone like she owns the place.

“I’m not frowning,” I lie.

“You’re absolutely frowning.” She nudges my arm. “This party is supposed to be fun, Lyla. Fun. You remember what that is, right?”

“Vaguely.”

She snorts. “Then tonight, we revive the concept. You’re going to relax, eat, drink, socialize, and dance. Pretend you’re not drowning in deadlines.”

“And wedding plans,” I add.

Her smile tightens for a split second… so fast I almost miss it. But I notice.

Hazel smiles too much for me not to see the slip.

“Well,” she says lightly, “you deserve a night off from all that too.”

She tucks a strand of her honey-brown hair behind her ear. I stare at her for a moment, searching for… something. Maybe reassurance. Maybe the friend she was before things started feeling weird between us recently.

“Hazel,” I begin, “can I ask…”

A sharp voice cuts through the hum of the office.

“Anderson.”

I freeze.

Of course… Alexander.

He stands at the end of the aisle of cubicles… black suit, sleeves rolled up, expression sharp enough to cut glass.

The worst part? The second his eyes land on me, my whole body reacts like I just got plugged into an outlet.

“Can I see you for a moment?” he says.

Hazel wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Ooh, your scary boss beckons.”

“Please shut up,” I whisper.

“I can’t. It’s a medical condition.”

I shoot her a look before walking toward him. He moves aside to let me pass into his office. I step inside, arms crossed for self-preservation.

“You need something?” I ask.

He closes the door. “The proposal draft.”

“It’s on your desk. I sent the digital copy too.”

He nods but doesn’t look away from me. For a moment it feels like he’s studying me, like he notices the tiny tremor in my hands or the way I can’t quite lift my chin today.

“You look tired,” he says quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

My breath hitches. “You’re imagining things.”

He steps closer… then stops himself, jaw clenching faintly. “Just… pace yourself tonight. Don’t take on extra tasks.”

“It’s a party, Mr. Sterling. Not a project.”

“That’s debatable.”

I almost smile. Almost.

But I can’t let myself settle into the strange comfort of his concern. Not when I’m already slipping.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat and walk out before he can reply.

~

By six, the office transforms into something unrecognizable: dim lights, shimmering decorations, a huge catering table, and a DJ booth in the corner.

People are laughing, clinking glasses, and dancing near their cubicles like it’s the best night of their lives.

Hazel appears again, holding two glasses of champagne.

“One for you,” she says.

“I’m not sure…”

“You’re drinking it,” she insists. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Since when are you a doctor?”

“Since you became impossible to babysit.” She bumps her glass against mine. “Cheers, bride-to-be.”

Something lurches in my chest.

Bride-to-be.

Some days those words feel like a warm hug. But today they feel like a weight.

We clink lightly and drink.

As I swallow, Hazel leans against me. “Just… have fun tonight, Lyla. Don’t overthink everything. Don’t run yourself into the ground. Just be here.”

Her voice is soft. Too soft.

I look at her, wondering suddenly, violently, what she would look like if she were hiding something.

She smiles at me again, perfectly and effortlessly. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

~

As the night deepens, laughter gets louder, music gets stronger, and I drift through the room with polite smiles and meaningless conversations.

Ryan texts me once:

`Hope the party’s fun. Don’t stay too late.`

No heart.

No “miss you.”

Just a schedule reminder.

Hazel hooks her arm through mine and pulls me toward the break area. “Secret Santa’s starting!”

“Great,” I mutter. “Corporate bonding.”

“Stop being grumpy,” she laughs.

But my chest feels tight.

I could feel something coming.

I don’t know what exactly, but the air feels heavy with it.

And as people gather around the table piled with wrapped gifts, I scan the room instinctively.

My pulse jumps as my eyes land on Alexander.

He is here, leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, looking like he owns every molecule of oxygen.

He’s not smiling, nor is he mingling. He’s just watching the room… watching the employees… watching…

Me.

I turn away quickly.

Tonight, I’m avoiding him.

Tonight, I need to breathe.

“Lyla,” Hazel says, pressing a gift bag into my hands, “this is yours.”

I stare at it.

It’s small and light, wrapped in matte black paper with a red ribbon.

My stomach drops.

I glance at Hazel.

She shrugs. “Open it!”

My breath stops as I lift the tissue paper.

Inside is… lingerie.

Not just lingerie. It's expensive, delicate, red lace lingerie.

A cold wave of confusion slams into me so hard I actually step back.

“What the hell…” I whisper.

My hands tremble. I shove the tissue paper deeper, as if hiding it makes it less real.

Hazel laughs lightly. “Ooh, someone thinks you’re spicy!”

“I… I don’t… this can’t…”

“Who’s your Secret Santa?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I choke out.

But someone does.

Someone very specific.

Slowly… too slowly… I sense a presence behind me. Then suddenly, a hand grabs me, yanking me into a dark, enclosed space.

I could feel the air shift. The tiny hairs on my arms rise.

Then a warm breath hits the side of my neck.

“Bunny,” a deep voice murmurs, “put on my New Year’s gift.”

My heart slams into my ribs. I spin around too fast.

It’s him.

Alexander!.

Standing close enough that I can see shadows in his eyes.

Close enough that I can smell the faint cedar and winter spice of his cologne.

“A… Alexander…” My voice breaks.

His gaze lowers to the gift bag in my hands. He smirks, slow and dangerous, like he enjoys the way I’m falling apart.

“Fits you,” he says quietly.

My entire body floods with heat… panic, humiliation, anger, and fear, all tangled into one unstoppable rush.

“I… I don’t… This isn’t funny,” I stammer.

“I wasn’t joking.”

That’s it.

That’s the final crack.

I shake my head and shove past him, heart pounding so loud it swallows the music.

“I have to… I need…” I can’t even form words.

I flee.

I hear footsteps behind me, heavy, controlled, and familiar.

Alexander is following.

My lungs tighten as I move faster down the hall, practically sprinting. I reach the staircase and grip the railing.

For a moment… just one… there’s silence.

Then I hear him stop behind me.

I don’t turn around.

I can’t.

If I do, I’ll break open completely.

His voice is low and strained, nothing like the confident whisper from seconds ago.

“Go,” he says. “Just… go home.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t come closer.

And somehow, that hurts more than everything else.

I walk down the stairs, legs shaking, heart in my throat.

Behind me, I hear nothing but the muffled echo of the party continuing… and the sound of Alexander letting me go.

CHAPTER 5

ALEXANDER…

Lyla's POV

The stairwell is cold… Too cold, my fingers sting as I grip the railing, my breath fogging in front of me as I reach the next landing.

The party noise fades behind the heavy doors above, replaced by quiet echoes and the faint hum of the building vents.

I stop halfway down, press my back against the wall, and clutch the gift bag to my chest like it’s radioactive.

“What the hell,” I whisper into the emptiness.

My voice sounds too small. Too shaky.

I run a hand through my hair. My scalp tingles with leftover adrenaline, and my pulse won’t slow down no matter how many breaths I take.

Lingerie.

Red lace lingerie.

Given to me at a company event…

By my boss.

By Alexander Sterling…

The man I’ve been trying to avoid for days, the man whose voice just broke me open like glass.

“Bunny.”

I flinch at the memory.

Why that nickname?

Why that tone?

Why me?

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold concrete. My knees pull up instinctively, and my hands shake around the ribbon of the gift bag.

I should be angry.

I should storm back upstairs and throw it in his face.

I should email HR.

I should call Ryan.

But I can’t move, because under all the humiliation… there’s something else.

Something I don’t want to name.

The door above clicks faintly, someone opening it. My heart leaps.

Footsteps.

Heavy, slow, and hesitant.

No…

No, I can’t see him. Not like this. Not with my face still burning and my thoughts a mess.

I stay perfectly still.

The footsteps stop right beyond the landing, close enough that I sense him, feel him, even without seeing him.

I grip the bag harder as silence stretches.

Then, his voice. Quiet and controlled.

Not the whisper from before.

Not the smirk.

Something else.

“Lyla.”

The sound hits me straight in the chest.

He breathes in, sharp and unsteady.

Then he exhales.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs.

My throat tightens.

“I shouldn’t have followed you either.”

He pauses.

The silence trembles.

“Go home,” he says finally. “Please.”

It’s the “please” that breaks me.

He never says please.

I swallow hard and force my voice out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he replies immediately.

I close my eyes. “Why would you… Why would you give me something like this?”

Another long pause.

“I didn’t pick it as a joke,” he says. “Or to embarrass you.”

“Then why?”

He doesn’t answer.

The quiet stretches between us until it feels like a living thing.

I push myself up slowly, my legs stiff. I still don’t look at him, but I face the stair railing, shoulders tight.

“Just go back to the party,” I whisper.

“I can’t.”

That single sentence sends a shiver down my spine.

“Alexander…” I breathe.

His voice lowers. “If I go back in there right now, I’ll…”

He stops himself.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his silhouette in my peripheral vision.

“You’ll what?” I ask, too softly.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then he shakes his head once, sharply.

“No,” he says. “No. This is already crossing the line.”

My heart sinks, relief and disappointment mixing in a way I hate.

“Go home, Lyla,” he says again, firmer. “Before I make this worse.”

I nod, barely.

His footsteps retreat, not toward me, but back toward the party.

The door opens.

The music spills out, then it closes again, sealing the world behind it.

And suddenly I’m alone.

Really alone.

~

(Outside)

Cold night air hits me as I step out of the building. I button my coat up to my throat and keep walking until my breath comes out in sharp bursts.

The city is bright, loud, and alive. People laugh in clumps on the sidewalk, taxis honk at every corner, and neon signs buzz above storefronts like electric stars.

But inside me?

Everything is quiet.

Too quiet.

My phone vibrates.

I pull it out, half-hoping it’s Ryan even though I don’t know what I’d say.

It’s a text from Hazel:

`Where did you disappear to?? Is everything okay???`

I stare at the message.

Hazel, my best friend.

The person I trust or used to trust.

I type back slowly:

`I just needed air.`

She replies instantly:

`Come back inside! You didn’t even finish your champagne. And it’s almost midnight!`

Midnight…

A new year.

A fresh start.

Except I don’t feel fresh.

Or renewed.

Or ready for anything.

I feel… broken open.

I text back:

`I think I’m heading home. Tell everyone I’m fine.`

She sends a stream of pouty emojis and a boooooo.

I stare at her messages, uneasy.

A familiar ugly twist coils in my stomach.

Something about Hazel’s excitement, her insistence, her closeness with Ryan—every part of it suddenly feels wrong.

But I shove it down.

One emotional disaster at a time, Lyla.

I put my phone away, hail a cab, and slide inside.

As the city moves past the window, lights blur into streaks as I press my forehead to the cold glass and whisper,

“What is happening to my life?”

But there’s no answer.

Only the memory of Alexander’s voice following me all the way home.