CHAPTER 11

The Unfinished Conversation

The restaurant was perfect—too perfect. The kind of place that whispered luxury in every detail, from the glimmer of the chandelier overhead to the way the waiters glided between tables like shadows. It should have been the perfect setting for an evening filled with laughter, shared glances, and easy conversation. But tonight, the silence between Alex and me was heavy, stretching across the table like an invisible wall.

I watched him as he absently swirled the whiskey in his glass, his eyes focused on something distant, something that wasn't me. My fingers tightened around my fork, and my appetite was completely gone.

I felt this coming. The subtle shifts in his behavior, the way he dodged certain topics, the way his phone seemed to vibrate more often lately—always a text he never showed me, always a call he answered just out of earshot. But tonight, I couldn't ignore it anymore.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Alex, where do you see us in the next few years?"

His hand froze mid-motion, just for a second. Then he continued swirling his drink as if the question didn't matter.

"That's a broad question," he said, his tone smooth, practiced.

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Is it?"

He finally met my gaze, and for a moment, I saw something flickering in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even guilt. But just as quickly, it was gone, hidden behind the unreadable mask he had perfected over the years.

"I don't think about the future that way," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "I take things as they come."

A sharp pang twisted in my chest. "That's not true. You plan everything. Your business deals, your investments, your workouts—even the way you organize your closet is scheduled down to the minute. So why is it so hard to plan for us?"

Alex sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Sophia, it's not that simple."

I leaned forward, my voice dropping just slightly. "It is for me."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. I could feel my pulse drumming against my skin, the air between us charged with something raw, something fragile.

"Do you see us getting married?" I asked, my voice softer now, but no less desperate.

Alex's fingers tapped against his glass, his jaw tightening. "I don't see the point in discussing something that—"

"The point?" My voice rose slightly, cutting through his words. "The point is that I need to know if I'm wasting my time here, Alex. If this is leading nowhere."

His shoulders tensed, and for the first time tonight, real frustration flickered in his expression.

"You're not wasting your time," he said, his voice lower, firmer.

That wasn't an answer.

A cold wave of realization settled over me. He wasn't saying yes. He wasn't saying no, either. He was just… avoiding. Like he always did when something felt too real, too permanent.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the sound of laughter and clinking glasses around us.

"Then say it," I whispered. "Say you see a future with me. Say you see us together, building a life, a home—"

His phone vibrated on the table. He ignored it at first, but then it buzzed again, more insistent this time.

I watched his face change.

"Alex," I pressed. "Who is it?"

Instead of answering, he reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. His lips parted slightly, and whatever he saw there made his expression harden.

"I have to go," he said abruptly, standing up.

My stomach dropped. Just like that. No explanation. No reassurance.

I stared at him, stunned. "Are you serious?"

He pulled out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the table, not even waiting for the check. "We'll talk later."

I grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. His skin was warm beneath my touch, but he was already pulling back.

"Alex, don't do this," I said, my voice shaking with frustration. "Don't walk away from this conversation."

Something flickered in his eyes again—regret? Guilt? But he shook his head.

"I have to handle something," he said, his voice tight. "I'll call you later."

I let go.

He turned and walked away, leaving me sitting there, staring at his untouched drink, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.

The moment he stepped outside, I exhaled shakily, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for my phone.

I had a message.

A single, anonymous text.

"You're not the only one in his life."

My breath caught in my throat.

I read the words again as if somehow they would change. My fingers tightened around my phone, my pulse pounding. The candlelight on the table flickered, casting shadows that suddenly felt too real, too dark.

The restaurant around me blurred, conversations fading into white noise as my mind spun.

I lifted my gaze to the door Alex had just walked out of.

Had I just let him slip away without demanding the truth?

Or had I already known it all along?