Page 97 of The Substitute Fiancée

I hold my breath. I wait.

I think he’s going to kiss me—press a kiss into my hair.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls back softly and takes his place on his side of the bed, respecting the space that has opened up between us.

In the dark, eyes closed, I remain still, my heart tight.

I don’t know where this restraint comes from. Should I be relieved—or devastated?

Is it respect for my sleep or distance?

Maybe he no longer knows how to touch me.

That thought hurts—because I no longer know how to be with him either. I want to turn around, face him, break the silence.

But I don’t move.

Because I’m afraid of what he might say. Worse—of what he might not say.

So I stay there in the dark, pretending to sleep, while he settles on his side of the bed.

And between us, the silence stretches on—heavy with everything we’re not saying.

31. Fucked Up

Alexander

I screwed up again.

Yesterday passed in a thick fog. Meeting after meeting. Call after call.

I found two minutes—literally two minutes—to send her a message.

Alexander: I hope everything’s going well. I’m thinking of you.

Pathetic.

I should have called her. Taken fifteen minutes. Asked how she was doing, how her work was coming along. But lunch with a potential partner dragged on, and I rolled straight into the afternoon meetings.

Anyway, Sam wasn’t very available. Her reply was cold. Impersonal.

Sam: Everything’s fine. See you tonight.

I should have called her. But the stress is mounting as we approach the IPO. The numbers aren’t good, and I’m trying everything I can to correct course. To save the work of my life.

I’m mentally exhausted, and I’m also so angry at Kristel. Not only did she cheat on me, but I’m certain she’s behind the rumors relentlessly targeting us.

And in the middle of all that, there’s Sam.

I feel so guilty. Guilty for letting her down and for being unable to support her, to be there the way she needs. I’m barely holding myself upright.

For “bad timing,” this is a fucking bad timing.

I stare at my computer screen, but the numbers blur in front of my eyes. All I see is Sam’s face last night, when I told her I had to work.

I had promised her. Promised to make her my priority.