Chapter 3

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, because when I opened my eyes, the first rays of dawn were filtering through my curtains. A soft blanket covered me—one I didn't remember pulling over myself. The apartment was quiet except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of early morning traffic.

As I sat up, something fluttered to the floor—a note written in elegant, masculine handwriting:

*Alana, you finally fell asleep around 4 AM. Didn't want to wake you. I've taken care of a few things around the apartment. I'll check on you later today, if that's okay. No pressure. —Xavier*

I blinked, trying to process what had happened. The events of yesterday crashed back—Logan's betrayal, my breakdown at Violeta's party, Xavier's unexpected kindness. My gaze swept across the apartment, noticing subtle changes. The dishes I'd left in the sink were washed and put away. The scattered magazines on my coffee table were neatly stacked. Even the wilting flowers in the vase by the window had been replaced with fresh ones.

When had he done all this? And why?

Moving to the kitchen for water, I discovered my nearly empty refrigerator now contained fresh groceries—milk, eggs, bread, fruit, and a container of homemade soup with another note: *In case you're hungry. Just heat it up.*

My phone buzzed with another message from Logan—his fifteenth since last night. I silenced it without reading, unable to face his excuses or explanations. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Throughout the day, I drifted through my apartment like a ghost, alternating between crying jags and moments of numb disbelief. The wedding invitations sat in a stack on my desk, mocking me with their elegant script and promises of forever.

When the doorbell rang around seven that evening, I almost didn't answer. But something pulled me toward the door—perhaps the memory of unexpected kindness in dark eyes.

Xavier stood there, holding a small bag from a local pharmacy and wearing concern on his face instead of the predatory confidence I'd always associated with him.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he said simply.

"You didn't have to do all this," I gestured vaguely behind me, indicating the cleaned apartment and groceries.

"I know." His voice was soft, without expectation or demand. "But I wanted to."

Something broke inside me then—not the shattering pain of betrayal, but the crumbling of a wall I hadn't realized I'd built. Without thinking, I stepped forward and pressed my lips to his.

For a moment, he stood frozen, then his arms came around me, gentle yet firm. The kiss deepened, igniting something I'd never felt with Logan—a hunger, yes, but also a sense of being truly seen.

When we broke apart, his eyes searched mine. "Alana, you're vulnerable right now. I don't want—"

I pressed my finger to his lips. "For once, I know exactly what I want."

That night, Xavier showed me what it meant to be desired, to be cherished. His hands traced my body with reverence, his whispers against my skin healing wounds I didn't know how to name. For those hours, I forgot about Logan, about the wedding, about the life that had crumbled around me. There was only this—the feel of Xavier's heartbeat against mine, the safety of his arms, the way he watched my face as if memorizing every expression.

Morning arrived with a vengeance. I woke to pounding temples and a chill that seemed to reach my bones despite the warm body beside me. When I tried to sit up, the room spun violently.

"Xavier," I whispered, my voice a rasp.

He woke instantly, concern replacing sleep in his eyes as he pressed a hand to my forehead. "You're burning up."

"It's nothing," I managed, though my teeth had begun to chatter. "Just stress."

"This isn't stress." He was already reaching for his phone. "You have a fever. A high one."

I tried to protest as he made calls, canceling meetings and rearranging his day, but my body betrayed me with another violent shiver.

"You don't have to stay," I whispered. "I can manage."

Xavier looked at me then, really looked at me, with an intensity that made my breath catch despite the fever. "I'm not going anywhere, Alana. Not unless you want me to."