137
The hall was alive with soft chatter and clinking glasses, golden light dancing off the chandeliers as music swelled gently in the background. Faces moved in and out of focus; smiling, sipping, circling. Alexander stood near the edge of it all, his glass untouched in his hand, his gaze drifting across the room with an ease that was entirely false.
He didn’t know why he’d come down tonight.
He hadn’t planned to. He didn’t want company or conversation or attention. But something had pulled him out of his suite. Something restless and sharp, buried deep in his chest. He told himself he was just stretching his legs. That he wanted to observe the scene, pass some time.
But that was a lie.
He was looking for her and he knew it.
It was a subtle thing at first, the way his eyes searched the room in the lazy, distracted way of a man pretending not to care. He scanned the faces, not obviously. Not enough to invite questions. Just a glance here. A pause there. A slight turn of the head toward a familiar laugh that didn’t belong to her.
She wasn’t here.
He waited another few minutes.
Waited for her to appear in the soft shimmer of an evening dress, her hair brushed out, eyes avoiding his, lips set in that way she had when she was trying not to feel. That was their game lately; glances that didn’t quite touch, silences louder than words. But even in that distance, she had always been there.
Until tonight.
Alexander adjusted his cufflink, though it didn’t need adjusting. A small, restless movement. He took a sip of the drink he didn’t want. The bitterness sat on his tongue, flat and tasteless.
Still no sign of her.
No flash of her hazel eyes. No familiar, fleeting brush of perfume in the air. No tension in his chest that usually came from sensing her presence before even seeing her.
His grip tightened around the glass.
He didn’t need confirmation. He knew. She was gone. She had left. Yalda was no longer in Monte Carlo. She had finally given up.
And it was everything he thought he wanted.
He should’ve been relieved, should’ve felt victorious, even. Wasn’t this what he’d been pushing her toward? Freedom? Peace? A clean break from the man who only ever dragged her deeper into pain?
He had been cruel. Deliberately distant. Cold enough to burn. He had built the distance between them with careful precision, cutting off every moment of softness before it had a chance to bloom. And still, she’d stayed for a while.
Until now.
The sound in the hall grew faint, muffled, as if he were submerged underwater. Alexander set his glass down on the nearest tray, his throat suddenly dry.
He left the hall without a word, and fortunately, no one noticed him go.
The hotel corridors were quiet as he walked back to his suite, his steps heavy, his body moving as if on autopilot. He opened the door and stepped into silence. It greeted him like an old friend.
The lights were low, just how he preferred them. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering like a thousand forgotten promises. He stood there, unmoving, staring out as if the horizon might offer an answer. It didn’t.
Yalda was gone. And so was something inside him.
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his face. The emptiness in his chest didn’t scream, it whispered. A constant, quiet ache that wouldn’t go away. She had been the only person who ever stayed long enough to see through his walls. Who had looked at his brokenness and still reached out with trembling fingers.
And he had let her go. No, he had made her go.
Because he thought that was what she needed. Because he thought if she left, she could heal. Because he thought she deserved someone better. Healthier. Someone who wouldn’t die in less than a year, leaving her to shatter all over again.
But in the end, he hadn’t protected her; he’d just broken her again.
His phone lay on the bedside table. For a moment, his fingers hovered over it. He wanted to call her. Desperately. Just to hear her voice. Just to say something.
But what could he say now?
I miss you?
I never wanted you to leave?
I’m dying and I love you but I was too much of a coward to admit it?
No. He couldn’t do that to her.
Instead, he picked up the phone and called his pilot.
“Get the jet ready,” he said, his voice low. “We’re leaving tonight.”
“Yes, sir. Destination?”
“New York.”
He ended the call before the man could respond. Then he sat there in the silence, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together as he stared at the floor.
He couldn’t stay here, he needed to leave before he lost his mind.
He was unraveling, but not outwardly. Not in the messy, obvious way people like Yalda did. No tears. No trembling hands. Just a sharp hollowness that he carried quietly. That’s what made it worse; no one would see it, no one would know.
He had always been stronger and that was his curse.
He could carry the weight without breaking. Could walk through fire with a straight spine and a cold gaze. But even steel melted eventually. Even mountains crumbled.
When the knock came to signal the car was ready, Alexander rose without hesitation. He grabbed his coat, stepped into polished shoes, and without giving the room another look, he turned and walked out the door.
The drive to the airstrip was brief, the luxury car gliding through Monte Carlo’s glittering streets without a sound. Alexander didn’t look out the window once.
The jet waited on the runway, its lights soft against the dark. The steps unfolded, the crew greeted him with quiet nods. He said nothing, simply boarded and took his seat.
As the engines roared to life, as Monte Carlo shrank behind him into the night, he allowed himself one single moment of weakness.
He closed his eyes, and he let his heart ache for her.
For the way she used to smile she wasn't sad. For the way she’d begged to stay by his side, even when he gave her nothing but ice. For the way her name had become a prayer he didn’t dare say aloud.
He had lost her because he’d never believed he could keep her.
And now, as the sky swallowed them whole, Alexander leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly. He didn’t cry.
He didn’t speak. He just carried the sadness quietly like he always did.
He was alone, completely.
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