CHAPTER 5

The evening feels different from the others. There's an unpretentious change in the air, a slight pressure that I can't exactly put. It's like something is going to occur — something that could either break us apart or unite us.

I sit in the lounge area, tinkering with my fork, not really tasting the food before me. I've never been a lot of an eater, however this evening, the food feels particularly unappealing.

The lavish dishes Alexander ordered are all fine dining, too rich and elaborate for my simple tastes. The flavors are too bold, too fancy, and I find myself pushing the food around on my plate, lost in thought.

Across from me, Alexander is focused on his phone, eyes flicking from the screen to his glass of wine. He doesn’t look up at me. The distance between us is as it always has been—an unspoken wall that neither of us has bothered to address.

But then, something shifts. Just a flicker, a small moment, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat.

“Leila,” he says suddenly, his voice deep and low. I look up, startled by the unexpected sound. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since we sat down.

“Mm?” I ask, unsure if he’s really talking to me or just caught in his own world.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he observes, his eyes flickering over me with an intensity I’m not used to. It feels strange to be seen by him, truly seen. But there’s no judgment in his gaze—no coldness. It’s almost... curiosity?

“I... didn’t know what to say,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... so much. Everything’s so... overwhelming.”

I feel vulnerable admitting this. Part of me expects him to dismiss it, to wave away my feelings as if they don’t matter. He’s always been distant, closed off. But instead, there’s a strange pause. Briefly, I assume I envision it, however his appearance relax, just somewhat.

"I know it's been a great deal," he expresses, nearly to himself. His voice has a peaceful unpleasantness to it, similar to he's taking on some struggle under the surface. "I would have rather not hurried you into this.. I didn’t want you to feel... trapped.”

Trapped. The word hits me harder than I anticipated. It's anything but a word I've heard him express, not in relation to me. He's always been so controlled, always so sure of himself, but this — this feels different.

“You didn’t want me to feel trapped?” I repeat, a small, bitter laugh escaping my lips before I can stop it. “Then why didn’t you ask me? For what reason didn't you give me a decision?"

Alexander's look glints away, and I get a brief look at something in his eyes — a short glimmer of distress, of disappointment. Yet, it's gone as fast as it came.

"You know why," he says quietly, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t about us. It was about... survival.”

“Survival,” I repeat, my heart sinking a little. “That’s how you see me? A means to an end?”

“No,” he says, his voice firmer now, more resolved. “It’s not like that. You’re not just a tool to me, Leila. You’re...”

He trails off, his hand gripping around his glass. I can see the pressure in his shoulders, the manner in which his eyes darken. I don't know what to think about it, or of him.

"You're what?" I press, the words slipping out before I can hold them back.

But just as quickly as it began, the moment fades. Alexander stands suddenly, pushing his seat back with a sharp scratch against the floor. He takes a gander at me, his demeanor unreadable.

"Please accept my apologies," he says, the statement of regret sounding void even to my own ears. "I didn't intend to upset you."

Before I can answer, he turns and leaves the room, abandoning me with the heaviness of his words — and the quiet that follows.

Sometime thereafter, after supper, I sit on the edge of the bed, gazing at the door.

The room feels excessively tranquil, excessively still. The air is thick with implicit words, unsaid thoughs. I can't shake the inclination that something has changed — something little but significant. Alexander's words, the non-abrasiveness in his eyes, everything feels like a break in his protection. I shouldn't really mind. I realize I shouldn't.

In any case, it's there, pulling at me, making my chest throb in a way I don't have the foggiest idea.

I ascend from the bed, my bare feet calm on the cool hardwood floors. I move to the window and look out at the city, its lights glinting somewhere far off.

Beneath, life continues on. People go to work, eat, chuckle, live. Furthermore, I'm right here — caught in a plated confine, caught by an agreement, by assumptions, by a man I barely know.

Nevertheless, truth be told, I don't have even the remotest clue how to push ahead. I don't have even the remotest clue what to feel any more.. The pull between anger and empathy for Alexander is confusing. One moment, I need to shout at him for trapping me in this life, and the next, I feel... feel sorry for him.

Also, that alarms me. I don't have idea of where to go from here.

Suddenly, I hear steps behind me.

I turn rapidly, my heart racing, but it's just Alexander, remaining in the entryway. He's watching me with an incoherent demeanor all over.

"I would have rather not left things like that," he says delicately. "I think we need to discuss this."

I feel a bunch fix in my stomach, uncertain of what he will say straightaway. His presence in the entryway feels like an invitation — or a trap. My brain races, however my voice is steady when I talk.

"I don't figure we can fix this," I answer, my own words surprising me.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, waiting, as if my words don’t matter.

And just like that, I feel it—the shift again.

The tension between us, thicker than ever, and yet... there’s something else, something undeniable. There’s a spark in his eyes, an unspoken promise that makes my heart race.

But it’s also a warning.

A warning that I don’t know if I can trust him.