Aftershocks
1063 Words
Harper
I didn’t sleep. Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way Alexander looked at me on the terrace—the rawness in his gaze, the quiet desperation behind it. The way his hand had trembled slightly when it cupped my cheek, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he held on too tightly.
And then the kiss.
God, that kiss.
It had started slow, hesitant, like neither of us knew if it was real. But the second his mouth claimed mine, the world had fallen away—no lies, no cameras, no arrangement. Just heat, breath, and the taste of rain on his lips.
Now, hours later, I sat on the edge of my bed, watching the city wake through the wall of glass. Dawn had broken pale and silver, the clouds parting over the skyline like an apology. The penthouse was quiet except for the faint hum of the espresso machine in the kitchen.
I could hear him moving out there.
Every part of me wanted to hide under the covers, pretend last night hadn’t happened. But I couldn’t un-feel it. I couldn’t erase the way my pulse had steadied when he whispered my name against my skin.
I stood, pulled my robe tighter, and stepped out into the hall. The smell of coffee and something warm—toast, maybe—drifted through the air.
Alexander stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed in a way I’d never seen before. He looked human. Less like the untouchable billionaire everyone saw, more like the man I’d kissed in the rain.
He turned as I entered. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Morning,” he said finally, his voice low and careful.
“Morning,” I echoed.
The silence stretched, awkward and thick. I reached for a mug just to have something to do. He slid the coffee pot toward me, our fingers brushing. The contact sent a jolt straight to my chest.
“About last night,” he started, and my stomach dropped.
Here it comes.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t,” I cut in before I could stop myself. “Please don’t do the whole ‘it was a mistake’ thing.”
His jaw tightened. “Harper—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” I said quietly, staring into my coffee. “It was unprofessional. Complicated. Dangerous. I get it.”
He didn’t answer.
When I finally looked up, his eyes were already on me—stormy and unreadable. “It’s not that simple,” he said finally.
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated, his fingers curling against the countertop. “You… get under my skin.”
The confession was so unexpected I almost laughed. “That’s a bad thing?”
“For me, it is.” His tone was flat, but there was something beneath it—fear, maybe. “You make me forget the rules. The ones I live by.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
His eyes flickered, and for a heartbeat, the tension between us thickened again—fragile, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
Then he stepped back, breaking it. “We should keep things professional from now on.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Right,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like glass. “Strictly business. Got it.”
He nodded once, his expression unreadable, and turned away to grab his phone. The moment was over before it had a chance to breathe.
I finished my coffee in silence and slipped back to my room, every nerve in my body still humming.
Professional. Sure.
Except the next few days proved that neither of us was capable of pretending anymore.
Every time we were in the same room, it felt like something unspoken hovered between us. His hand would linger a second too long when he helped me out of the car. His gaze would drop to my mouth during a conversation, and my pulse would betray me every single time.
The media had begun to notice too. Every magazine headline screamed about “the Hale engagement glow.” My face was everywhere—smiling, polished, and lying through my teeth.
But behind the smiles, everything was unraveling.
One evening, I came home late from a meeting with a designer Alexander had connected me with. My career was finally starting to shift—real opportunities were coming my way—but the excitement didn’t feel the same. Because none of it meant anything without him acknowledging what was really happening between us.
When the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, I found him standing on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. The wind toyed with his hair, his posture rigid, hands gripping the railing like he was holding on for dear life.
I stepped closer, my heels quiet against the marble. “You’ve been out here a while.”
He didn’t turn. “I needed air.”
“Rough day?”
His shoulders rose and fell with a breath. “Something like that.”
Silence stretched between us, soft and heavy. I joined him at the railing, the night air cool against my skin. The city shimmered below—alive and endless.
“Alex,” I said quietly.
That one word changed the air between us. He turned, eyes shadowed, jaw tight.
“I can’t do this halfway,” I whispered. “If we’re going to keep pretending, I need to know where the line is.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth again. I saw the flicker of conflict there—want and restraint battling for control.
“There isn’t one anymore,” he said finally, voice low. “That’s the problem.”
And before I could reply, he stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me like gravity.
But this time, he didn’t touch me.
He just stood there—one breath apart, the air between us alive with everything we weren’t saying.
Then he whispered, “Good night, Harper,” and walked away.
Leaving me standing in the quiet, heart racing, knowing that the line between us had already been crossed… and neither of us would ever be able to go back.
- Writer
