Haggler

Ivan's POV

I'm in love with him.

No, literally.

I'm in love with Zander.

It's been a week since we've been on this hidden island, and every day has been chipping away at the last bit of my resistance.

Right now, I stand beneath the massive sun hat Zander forced me to wear, shielding myself from the harsh sun, while watching the most absurd battle I've ever witnessed.

Zander, dressed in sandals, some truly hideous Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and a straw hat, is currently haggling with an old island grandma over the price of fish.

Yes, fish.

Not stocks, not luxury cars, not multi-billion-dollar investments. Fish.

"Five." The old woman states firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Three," Zander counters, his deep voice serious, eyes narrowed like he's negotiating a hostile takeover.

"Four," the grandma fires back without hesitation.

Zander clicks his tongue, adjusting the tote bag slung over his shoulder like it's a briefcase in a high-stakes meeting.

"Three and a half."

The grandma scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Boy, I was bargaining before you were born. You can afford four."

Zander grits his teeth, looking visibly offended.

"That's price gouging," he mutters. "You're taking advantage of me."

The grandma snorts. "And what? You think you're being robbed, big man? Go fish for it yourself then."

A few locals nearby chuckle under their breaths, clearly enjoying the show.

I cover my mouth, holding back laughter.

I mean, the ruthless businessman, Zander Vale, reduced to losing a financial battle against a fishmonger grandma? This is comedy gold.

Zander glares at the fish, like it personally insulted him, before finally surrendering.

"Fine. Four."

The grandma grins in victory, wrapping up the fish and patting Zander on the shoulder like he's some child she just bested in a game.

"Good boy."

Zander stalks back toward me with an air of betrayal, clutching the fish in a bag like he's just suffered the greatest loss of his life.

I immediately slip my arm through his, biting my lip to hold back my amusement as we continue walking through the marketplace.

"There, there," I say in mock comfort. "You do know you stood no chance, right?"

Zander clicks his tongue, scowling.

"She's exploiting me. I swear."

"Oh, absolutely," I agree, patting his bicep in mock sympathy. "The poor, helpless CEO, robbed of his hard-earned money by an old lady selling fish."

Zander side-eyes me, clearly not amused.

But I can see it—the tiny upward twitch of his lips.

He loves this.

Even if he won't admit it.

We continue walking through the bustling streets, gathering ingredients for dinner.

Zander carries a tote bag filled with vegetables, fruit, rice, and now, his hard-earned fish.

Every few steps, locals greet him like an old friend.

"ZiZi! You're back!" a vendor calls out, throwing him a mango.

"Zander! Who's this beauty? You finally found yourself an Omega?" another teases, causing me to choke on my own spit.

"None of your business!" Zander barks back, glaring at them.

It's… strange.

Strange to see him so at ease.

No bodyguards. No suits. No walls.

Just Zander, existing freely, in a place where he doesn't have to be anything but himself.

At one stall, I feel a tiny tug on my shirt.

I look down and see a young boy, maybe around seven or eight, staring up at me with wide, admiring eyes.

"You're really pretty," he blurts out, blinking up at me like I just descended from heaven.

I blink, startled.

"Oh! Uh, thank you?" I say, amused and flattered.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" the kid asks, very seriously.

I sputter, caught off guard, and before I can answer, a large, tanned hand clamps onto my waist.

"Yes, he does."

Zander's voice is dark, possessive, deadly serious.

The kid looks up at him, unimpressed.

"Oh. Well, I still think you're pretty." He huffs, sticking his hands in his pockets before trotting away.

I lose it.

I laugh so hard I nearly collapse, gripping onto Zander's arm for support.

"Oh my god, you just got jealous of a literal child!" I wheeze.

Zander scoffs, pretending to be indifferent, but I can see his jaw clenched slightly.

"He was being bold," Zander mutters.

"He's seven!" I cry, gasping for breath.

Zander merely clicks his tongue, leading me toward the next stall as if nothing happened.

But I don't miss the way his hand stays on my waist, gripping just a little tighter.

And honestly?

I love it.

By the time we finish shopping, the sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in soft pinks and oranges.

Zander carries our full tote bag, muttering about how he was robbed while I laugh beside him, slipping my arm through his.

As I watch Zander scowl over his "tragic" financial losses, I realize something.

I never stood a chance.