The CEO’s stand-in girlfriend

Grandma’s soup

*Ashley*

The room feels like it’s closing in around me as I sink deeper into the couch, the blanket wrapped tightly like a cocoon. The soft glow of the TV flickers in front of me, but the words of the rom-com seem to drift in and out, mixing with the haze of cold medicine swirling in my head. I take a sip of my tea, letting the warmth spread through my fingers, hoping it will chase away the chill that clings to my bones.

In my lap lies my notebook… my sanctuary and confessional… where I’ve poured out my thoughts, dreams, and a list of qualities I want in a man. The pages are filled with the remnants of a heart trying to heal and rebuild after losing Alexander. I can’t help but glance at the words I’ve written, memories flooding back. ‘Compassionate,’ ‘funny,’ ‘adventurous.’ They feel like echoes of a life that feels so far away now…. i am not sure why I decided to pull it out today, it has been years since I last read in it.

I can’t help but compare Lucas to Alexander, and it stings a little more than I’d like to admit. It was sweet of Lucas sending the doctor and checking in on me when I’m sick, but he’s not Alexander, and I suspect it was more about him wanting me ready when he needs me. Lucas is cold and distant, hiding behind a façade of power, the strong man in the room. I can see it in the way he carries himself, the way he interacts with the world… a stark contrast to the warmth and tenderness I once knew from his brother.

I close the notebook, feeling the weight of it in my hands, a tangible reminder of my lost love. Sighing, I but it on the table and lean my head back against the couch, letting sleep pull me under once more.

A sudden clearing of a throat jolts me awake, and I squint against the dim light to see Lucas standing in the doorway, his usual stern expression softened by concern. “You shouldn’t be sleeping on the couch,” he says, his voice low and slightly irritated. “You’ll just end up with a kink in your neck on top of the flu.”

I nod, his words cutting through the fog of exhaustion. “You’re right,” I mumble, pushing myself up from the couch. But my legs feel like jelly, and I sway unsteadily, a wave of dizziness washing over me.

“Come on,” Lucas says, moving toward me with a swift grace that surprises me. Before I can protest, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms. My heart races, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard by the warmth of his embrace, the strength in his hold. It’s the most physical contact we’ve ever shared, and it sends a shiver down my spine… one that has nothing to do with my fever.

I clutch the blanket tighter around me, my face buried against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. It’s oddly comforting, and I feel safe, cocooned in his arms.

He carries me to my bedroom, and I can’t help but marvel at how natural this feels, even if it’s just a fleeting moment. He tugs the blankets down and lays me gently on the bed, the softness beneath me a welcome relief. “Rest,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle. “I’ll make you some soup. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s the best for flu.”

I blink up at him in surprise. “You keep your grandmother’s recipe?” I ask, genuinely curious. It seems so out of character for him, the man who thrives in the high-stakes world of business, to have something so personal and sweet tucked away.

He shrugs, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “What can I say? It works,” he replies, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just trust me. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

With that, he turns to leave, and I grab his wrist impulsively. “Lucas,” I say, my voice stronger than I expected. “Thank you. For everything.”

He meets my gaze, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes… something that makes me wonder if there’s more to him than the cold exterior. “Just get better,” he says, his voice low and sincere before he steps out of the room.

As he walks away, I feel a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. I’m grateful for his care, yet I can’t shake the feeling that this relationship is built on the ruins of what once was. Lucas is not Alexander… he can’t be, Just like I will never be Helene.

But as I settle back into the warmth of my blankets, I find myself pondering what it means to move on. Maybe, just maybe, there’s room in my heart to let so eone in, when I am free of Lucas at some point.

With thoughts racing, I close my eyes and allow myself to drift back into a fragile sleep, the sound of Lucas’s footsteps fading into the background as I hold onto the hope that tomorrow might bring something new.