POV Xander
“Oh, come on now, Xander, don’t be dramatic.”
The words slid off her tongue like honey laced with poison.
I’d heard them too many times before, always delivered with that same amused lilt, as though my concerns were just some silly play she didn’t care to watch.
Alaina was beautiful—no one could deny that. Every line of her face was carved with precision, her smile designed to disarm, her figure the sort that made men pause mid-sentence.
But beauty had always been her weapon, and I, once upon a time, had been willing prey.
She called me dramatic when she bought something outrageous with my cards. A bag worth more than an employee’s salary, a necklace she didn’t need.
Even though I never once told her she couldn’t afford it, she’d laugh and accuse me of overreacting.
She called me dramatic when she pressed herself too close to other men, when her laughter lingered a moment too long, when I felt my chest tighten at her games.
I’d ask her why, and she’d smile sweetly, stroke my cheek, and say, “Don’t be dramatic, Xander.”
And when she shaded me—veiling sharp jabs in silk words, the kind that pricked without drawing blood—she always followed it with the same refrain.
Dramatic.
So yes, the phrase wasn’t new. It was an old, tired echo. And yet, once upon a time, I had wanted to marry her anyway.
Because I had been so stupidly in love. Because my grandmother adored her, saw in her the picture-perfect wife and mother for the children I was supposed to have one day.
But now? Standing in front of me, with that same sly smile and sharp eyes, Alaina stirred nothing. Not anger. Not longing. Not even resentment strong enough to burn.
The only thing on my mind was Norah.
Norah, whose voice and laughter replayed in my head when silence stretched too long.
Norah, whose touch lingered on my skin long after she’d walked away.
Norah, who had so thoroughly eclipsed every trace of Alaina that I had to step back now—physically retreat—before my chest gave out under the sheer force of it.
I dragged in a breath, steadying myself.
Alaina tilted her head, mistaking my silence for something else.
“I know you still love me,” she said softly, like she was certain.
A bitter laugh nearly escaped me, but I forced it down, biting the inside of my cheek.
Oh, you wish.
“You walked out a week before our wedding,” I said flatly. “It is barely three months since you left me standing there with vows written, and a family basically waiting in the front row. For what? To run off with your bodyguard? You didn’t just embarrass me, Alaina, you humiliated my family!”
Her lips parted, feigning fragility, but her eyes stayed bone-dry—gleaming with calculation, not remorse.
“I wasn’t ready,” she whispered, her voice a silken performance. “I felt like such a disappointment to you, Xander. I couldn’t face you like that. So I walked away.”
That broke the dam. A sharp, humorless laugh tore out of me.
“Is that the story you’ve settled on? Not because you were restless, not because you wanted the thrill of sneaking around with the man paid to guard your door. No, it was out of… mercy? Spare me.”
Her nostrils flared. “Yes, really! You think I haven’t regretted it? You think I haven’t imagined that day a thousand times? I still love you, Xander. I’ve always loved you.”
The words, once upon a time, might have carved me open. Now, they slid right past.
My chest didn’t even flinch.
“Then why are you here?” I asked, each word clipped. “If this isn’t about guilt, if it isn’t about nostalgia, then what is it? What do you want from me, Alaina? Ran out of money?”
That struck. Her eyes blazed, her jaw tightening, and the pitch of her voice snapped sharp.
“Money?” she spat. “I am your fiancée! What do you mean, money? After everything we had, you think I came crawling back here for that? Am I some kind of gold-digger to you?”
My eyes narrowed. “You walked out. You forfeited that title. Don’t call yourself my fiancée.”
The color rose in her cheeks. She clenched her fists, her whole body vibrating with fury. And then her voice ripped through the room like a gunshot.
“I’m pregnant with your baby, you asshole!”
The words hung there, jagged and raw, slashing the air between us.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The silence was deafening. My pulse roared in my ears, but my thoughts—the part of me that usually calculated, strategized, dissected everything—simply… stopped.
Pregnant.
The word rang louder than any insult, any confession.
Before I could gather myself, before I could demand proof or even draw a single breath deep enough to respond, she spun on her heel. Her heels clicked furiously against the polished floor, each step a drumbeat of finality.
“Alaina!” My voice cracked, the first crack she had managed to pull from me in years.
I shoved past my desk and ran after her, slamming the office door open so hard it rattled the frame. But the sight waiting for me on the other side rooted me to the ground.
Standing there, wide-eyed, frozen in place, was Norah.