Tracy didn’t sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Alex’s face—too close, too unreadable, his whisper brushing against her ear. “You shouldn’t want to matter to me.”
The words coiled in her chest, poisonous and intoxicating at once. She hated him for the way he dismissed her. She hated herself more for the way his presence left her trembling.
By dawn, she dragged herself out of bed, splashing cold water on her face as if it could wash away the confusion clawing at her insides. But when she entered the penthouse kitchen, Alex was already there—sleeves rolled up, tie undone, a mug of black coffee in his hand.
He didn’t look at her as she entered, yet somehow the air thickened all the same.
“Morning,” she said carefully.
“Mm.” It was barely a response.
Tracy bit the
