Anna's second regression, Alpha regrets it

Chapter 6 — The Negotiation

I called it a meeting because the word felt deliciously formal. Meetings had agendas, minutes, outcomes. This one had candles and a playlist that made people lean in, but the structure was the same: I wanted clarity. I wanted to know who could hold themselves when the lights were off and the applause had faded.

They arrived like different weather systems. Rian came with the kind of tailored calm that suggested he’d rehearsed humility and found it fit. Mateo arrived with paint under his nails and a grin that promised storms. Evan walked in like a steady tide, carrying a thermos of tea and the kind of quiet that made rooms feel safer.

I had written the rules on a card and placed it in the center of the table like a small, ceremonial object. Honesty. No ghosting. Respect for my time. The right to say no without explanation. I watched them read it, watched their faces as the words landed. Some of them flinched. Some of them smiled. All of them understood that this was not a game.

“Why the formalities?” Mateo asked, half teasing, half curious.

“Because I’m tired of improvising my life around other people’s schedules,” I said. “Because I want to know who can show up when it matters. Because I’m not a plot device in anyone’s redemption arc.”

Rian’s jaw tightened in a way that made him look human. “I can do that,” he said. “I can be present.”

“Can you be present without trying to fix me?” I asked.

He blinked, then nodded. “I can be present without trying to own you.”

Mateo’s answer was less polished. “I can’t promise I won’t be messy,” he said, “but I can promise to try. To show up. To be honest.”

Evan smiled. “I’ve always been here. I’ll keep being here.”

The negotiation that followed was less about bargaining and more about translation—translating desire into terms that could be respected. I asked for dates that started and ended on time. I asked for texts that didn’t vanish for days. I asked for apologies that were not performances. I asked for curiosity, for the courage to be vulnerable, for the willingness to be wrong and to change.

Rian took notes like a man who’d learned to measure his words. He asked practical questions about my schedule, my boundaries, the things that mattered to me. He wanted to know how to be useful without being suffocating. The way he listened made me think of boardrooms and late nights, of a man who had learned to build things and now wanted to build something that included me.

Mateo argued for spontaneity. “Rules are fine,” he said, “but some of the best things happen when you throw the rules out the window.”

“Some of the worst things happen when you throw the rules out the window,” I countered, smiling. “I want spontaneity that respects my life, not chaos that erases it.”

He laughed, then grew serious. “I can do that. I want to be better. I want to be present.”

Evan’s voice was steady. “I don’t have grand gestures. I have consistency. If that’s what you want, I’ll give it.”

We negotiated like adults who had been burned and had learned to ask for receipts. There were moments of heat—an accidental brush of a hand, a look that lingered too long—but the tone was different from the nights when I’d been twenty-five and desperate. This time the heat was a currency I spent deliberately.

At one point Rian reached across the table and took my hand. The contact was warm and careful, like someone testing a bridge. “I don’t want to be the man who left,” he said. “I want to be the man who learns.”

“Learning is a verb,” I said. “Show me.”

He nodded. “I will.”

Mateo leaned in, eyes bright. “I’ll show you with presence. With paint on my hands and late-night calls and the kind of honesty that’s messy.”

Evan’s hand found mine and squeezed. “I’ll show you by being here when you need me.”

The negotiation ended not with a contract but with a series of small promises. They were not ironclad. They were not guarantees. They were intentions, and intentions had to be tested. I felt a thrill that had nothing to do with being pursued and everything to do with being the one who set the terms.

After they left, Lina called. “How did it go?” she demanded.

“I made them sign a metaphorical NDA,” I said, laughing. “And I made them promise to be decent human beings.”

“Good,” she said. “And if they don’t?”

“Then they don’t,” I said. The words felt like armor. I had been hurt before by men who promised the moon and delivered excuses. This time I would not be a footnote in someone else’s story. I would be the author.

That night I lay awake thinking about the negotiation. It had been hot in a way that had nothing to do with s*x and everything to do with power. The men who had once walked away were circling back, but this time the rules were mine. I had set the terms. I had asked for respect. I had demanded presence.

Curiosity, boundaries, honesty. The list felt like a vow. I had given them a chance to show up. Now I would watch to see who could keep their promises.