BOUND BY ONE NIGHT

Chapter9

Alex Pov

I told myself I could go back to normal. That I could walk into the office, sit behind my desk, face Lavender, and pretend nothing had happened in that hotel room, nothing had burned through me, nothing had shaken loose something I didn’t even know was trapped inside me.

It was a lie. The first one I told myself that morning.

The second lie was that I could sleep. I didn’t. I lay awake in the dark, sheets twisted around me, staring at the ceiling as if the plaster could explain why I felt like my ribs had been pried open. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lavender’s face, flushed, startled, wanting. I heard the sound she made when I kissed her. I felt the way she trembled against me, the way she melted and then tried to gather herself back up.

I felt everything, too much. By the time I got to the office, my chest felt bruised. Margaret looked at me too long when I walked in. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed the way they did when she already knew the answer to a question she hadn’t asked.

I ignored it, another lie. I went straight to my office, closed the door, and tried to breathe. I told myself all I had to do was get through the day. Lavender would avoid me, I would avoid her, and everything would slide back into silence.

I didn’t even last two hours. A knock at the door almost made me flinch.

“Come in,” I said, already knowing who it was. Lavender stepped inside slowly, like she was bracing for a storm. She didn’t look at me right away. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her shoulders drawn in. She looked smaller than usual, and that did something to me, something I didn’t have the tools to handle.

“Good morning,” she murmured. I hated how my chest tightened just hearing her voice. I tried to sound normal, professional, detached.

“Morning. Do you have the report from finance?”

She blinked, a flicker of hurt, or maybe confusion, passing through her eyes before she masked it. She nodded and handed it over.

“Thank you,” I said, forcing my tone flat. “You can leave it on the desk.” She placed it down carefully, like she was afraid to disturb the air around me.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked, voice steady but stretched thin.

Yes, no. God, I didn’t even know anymore. I swallowed. “No. That’s all.”

She hesitated, just a breath, just a shift of weight, but it was enough to tell me she had also been replaying every second of last night. Enough to tell me she wanted acknowledgment, or at least clarity.

I gave her nothing. She nodded once, quietly, and left. The sound of the door closing behind her felt like someone had slammed something inside me shut. I dropped my head into my hands and exhaled harshly. I was already becoming someone I didn’t recognize.

I thought that would be the worst of it, that the guilt twisting in my chest was enough punishment for the lapse in judgment, the recklessness, the way I let myself want something I wasn’t supposed to want.

But then Cassandra walked in, she didn’t knock. She never did.

“Alex?” Her voice floated through the room like perfume, soft, confident, familiar. But today it scraped like sandpaper against the inside of my skull. I looked up. “Hey.”

She smiled, walking over to kiss me, but I leaned back slightly, pretending to reach for a pen. Her lips grazed my cheek instead. She paused, eyes narrowing just a little.

“You’re tense,” she observed.

“I have work,” I replied too quickly.

She studied me. Cassandra wasn’t easily fooled; she read people for a living, and she read me like a textbook she’d memorized years ago.

“I called you last night,” she said. “Twice.”

I shrugged. “I was tired.”

“Tired,” she repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of the word. “You never go to bed early.”

“Well,” I said, forcing a thin smile, “there’s a first time for everything.”

Her eyes sharpened. “What’s going on with you?”

Nothing, everything . Lavender’s hands in my hair, breath against my throat.

Lavender’s silhouette in the dim hotel room light, the moment I knew I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

“I’m fine,” I lied again.

Cassandra watched me like she could smell the truth burning under my skin. She walked around the desk, settling herself on the corner, leaning in.

“You’re being distant.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” she pressed gently. “Talk to me, Alex.”

The irony hit like a punch. Talk to her? About this? I leaned back in my chair and stared at the window because looking at her felt like standing too close to a mirror I didn’t want to see my reflection in.

“I’m just… overwhelmed,” I said. “Work is heavy right now.” She reached out to touch my arm. I stiffened before I could stop myself.

She noticed. “Alex.” Her voice dipped, low and searching. “Is there someone else?” My heart stuttered.

“No,” I said immediately, too sharply. Her brow lifted. “Then why are you acting like you’re guilty of something?”

Because I was, the scent of another woman was still trapped in the back of my mind, the memory of Lavender’s soft gasp was something I could still feel in my bones. I forced my jaw to relax. “You’re imagining things.”

Cassandra stared at me for a long, long moment.

“I know you,” she whispered. I didn’t answer.

Finally, she slid off the desk and straightened her blouse. “We’ll talk later.” She left, but the room didn’t feel any lighter. I pressed my palms onto the desk, leaning over it as if the wood could hold me up. My heart was pounding. My head felt thick. My guilt was a living thing, pacing the boundaries of my skin.

And beneath all of it, buried but burning, was something worse, I didn’t regret it. Not the way I should, not the way a man in a relationship should. I should feel disgusted with myself, ashamed, horrified by what I did. And I did feel all of that, somewhere deep, deep down.

But layered on top of it, stubborn and unyielding, was the memory of Lavender’s eyes when she looked at me like she wasn’t sure she should want me, but did anyway. I closed my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I wasn’t supposed to feel anything, I wasn’t supposed to come undone.

But I had. And I didn’t know how to put myself back together.