CHAPTER 8

On the other hand, Syrus never stopped showering me with affection. Since our date night, it had been an endless stream of gifts—flowers, chocolates, and other extravagant gestures. His thoughtfulness was overwhelming but also starting to feel like a spotlight I wasn't ready for.

The gifts became so frequent that the entire office was abuzz with speculation. Everyone was convinced we were dating. No matter how many times I clarified that we weren't, my words fell on deaf ears. And honestly, I couldn't entirely blame them.

What made it worse—what made my denials sound downright absurd—was when Syrus started sending one of his cars with a driver to pick me up from work and drop me home. Every morning, the same car would arrive at my apartment to bring me back to the office. It was like a routine now, and no one missed it.

Who in their right mind would believe that we weren't dating?

I doubted my own words every time I tried to explain myself. How could I say with a straight face, "We're not together," when the reality painted an entirely different picture?

And yet, every morning and evening, as I rode in that sleek car with its polished leather seats, I couldn't help but wonder: why was Syrus doing all this? Was he genuinely interested in me, or was I just a passing fancy to him—a novelty he could pamper until he got bored?

The weight of it all felt suffocating. Between Max's cold distance and Syrus's relentless attention, I felt like I was being pulled in two completely different directions, each as confusing as the other.

We hadn't gone on another date since that magical night, but Syrus had been calling me every evening without fail. We'd talk for hours about everything and nothing—work, life, hobbies, even random jokes that would have me laughing until my stomach hurt.

He never said anything about wanting to date me, though. He kept the conversations casual and light, so I started to believe that all the grand gestures—flowers, chocolates, the car—were just his way of being a kind and generous friend.

I mean, it didn't sound right. I knew it didn't. But what other explanation could there be? This guy could have any woman he wanted. And when I say any woman, I mean any woman. Models, actresses, singers—the type of women who graced magazine covers and ruled social media feeds. Every single one of them seemed to have a crush on Syrus Blackwood.

He was the most eligible bachelor in the country—wealthy, charming, ridiculously good-looking, and connected to one of the most powerful families. His dating pool was filled with women who were famous, rich, and impossibly glamorous.

And then there was me. I didn't belong in that world. Not even close.

So, naturally, I convinced myself that all of this—the calls, the gifts, the car—was just Syrus being friendly. That he saw me as nothing more than a refreshing change from the people he was usually surrounded by.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself. Because the alternative—that Syrus might actually like me—was a possibility I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around.

Finally, it was the weekend—a time I had been looking forward to for days. I just wanted to curl up in my cozy apartment, away from the chaos of my life, and enjoy some much-needed alone time. No drama, no distractions, just me, my couch, and maybe a movie marathon.

Or so I thought.

As I lounged on the sofa, my phone buzzed. I reached for it lazily, expecting it to be a random notification or maybe Syrus with one of his usual calls. But what I saw froze me in place.

A text.

From Max.

It took me a few seconds to fully process the words on the screen:

"Hello, I'll be going hiking this weekend, and I would really love it if you would join me."

What?

I stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, my mind racing. Not because of the content of the text, but because of the sender. Max! After all this time—after days of silence and acting like I didn't even exist—he suddenly reached out? And not just to say hi or apologize for ghosting me, but to ask me to spend the entire weekend with him?

Why now? What changed? What could have possibly gotten into him?

I didn't know how to feel.

A part of me was over the moon, practically jumping with excitement. I'd missed him so much, more than I'd ever admit to anyone—not even myself. I had been dying to spend time with him again, to feel the connection we had on our date.

But then there was the other part of me. The part that felt wary, confused, and maybe even a little angry. After all, his silence had broken my heart. I'd spent days wondering what went wrong, replaying every moment of our date, questioning if I had done something to push him away.

And now he was here, texting me out of the blue, as if nothing had happened.

I wanted to scream, cry, and jump for joy—all at the same time.

So there I was, frozen on my couch, staring at the text, torn between excitement and worry. Should I go? Should I say no? Did I even want to know his reasons for reaching out?

One thing was for sure—I had a decision to make.

Well, I wouldn't get any answers by just staring at the text like a fool. I needed to reply, say something—anything.

If I decided to go, it might be my one chance to get the answers I'd been dying for. I could ask him why he never reached out after our date, why he'd acted so distant, and whether I'd imagined the connection we had that night. Maybe this was my opportunity to finally clear the air.

If I didn't go, I knew myself—I'd never muster the courage to bring it up later. The questions would haunt me, and I'd always wonder "what if."

But even as I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I couldn't help but feel nervous. A part of me was scared—terrified, actually. What if the reason he was texting me now had nothing to do with us, but everything to do with my past?

What if he'd learned about my father, the man who'd spent his life building an illusion of wealth and dragging me into his lies? What if Max thought I'd lied to him too? What if this whole hiking trip was just an excuse to confront me about it?

I felt my chest tighten at the thought.