For days, Alexandra did what Stacy had told her to do.
No calls.
No texts.
No flowers.
No visits.
She silenced every impulse that screamed to reach out—every late-night draft message she never sent, every morning when her fingers hovered over Sam's contact. She told herself it was strategy, that absence might make Sam realize something. But as the days passed and the silence stayed... the strategy began to feel like punishment.
Maybe Sam didn't miss her.
Maybe she'd never cared at all.
Alexandra tried to bury it—the ache, the quiet rejection—beneath the noise of work. She threw herself into meetings, deals, and new projects until the edges of her exhaustion blurred into numbness. If love was going to stay one-sided, then at least work could be something that obeyed logic.
Now, she stood outside a quiet café downtown, adjusting her blazer as her secretary Gwen joined her.
"Ready for the client, Ms. Alex?" Gwen asked, glancing at her tablet.
"Yeah," Alexandra said with a faint smile. "Let's go."
The coffee shop smelled like roasted beans and warm pastries. Light spilled through tall glass windows, tinting the polished tables amber. Alexandra's heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked to their reserved table near the corner.
She couldn't shake the strange prickle crawling up her neck—that familiar sensation of being watched. Her eyes flicked toward the windows, scanning the street. Nothing. Just a reflection of herself, composed and calm, the way she'd trained herself to look.
"Let's sit," she said quietly.
They ordered coffee—flat white for her, cappuccino for Gwen. The hum of quiet chatter filled the air. Alexandra tapped her nails absently against the cup.
"What time is the meeting?" she asked.
"Two P.M., ma'am."
Alexandra checked her watch. Five minutes to two.
They waited.
The café clock ticked, painfully slow. Gwen's phone buzzed, breaking the monotony.
"Hello, Mr. Brown?" Gwen answered quickly. "Oh, I see. Yes, I'll inform Ms. Brand. Thank you." She ended the call and turned to Alexandra.
"Ma'am, the client had an emergency. They won't make it today."
Alexandra sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Alright. It happens."
"Should we go, then?"
"No." Alexandra smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Finish your coffee, Gwen. You've been running around all morning. Sit, relax for a bit."
Gwen nodded, surprised but grateful.
For a few quiet minutes, they sat—the smell of cinnamon, the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of background conversation. Alexandra lifted her cup, taking a sip that scalded her tongue. She barely noticed. Her thoughts had already wandered—back to a woman who hadn't called, who hadn't texted, who probably hadn't even noticed the silence.
She's not thinking about you, Alex. She's probably relieved.
She exhaled softly, a tiny ache blooming under her ribs.
--
Meanwhile, across the street, Sam sat in her car, knuckles white around the steering wheel.
She had just seen Alexandra step out of someone else's car—a sleek black sedan—and walk into the café with another woman.
Her stomach did a little flip. Great. Just great. Totally normal reaction. Totally professional.
"So that's why you disappeared?" she murmured. "Stopped sending me flowers because you found someone else to spoil?"
Her chest tightened. Memories flickered through her mind like quiet, unwanted ghosts.
Three days ago, she'd passed her secretary's desk, pretending not to look at the corner where the flowers always waited. Alexandra had made a habit of sending them—soft pink roses one day, white tulips the next—and Sam had made a habit of refusing them. "Send them back," she'd said each time, hiding the flutter it caused behind a perfectly controlled frown.
But that morning, the glass vase was empty.
She slowed her pace without meaning to. "No flowers today?" she asked lightly, keeping her tone even as she shuffled the folders in her arms.
Her secretary looked up. "No, ma'am. Nothing today."
"Oh," Sam said, nodding briskly. "Alright." She turned toward her office before the quiet could stretch too long, her heels echoing down the hall. Ridiculous, she thought. I'm actually checking for flowers. And getting disappointed. In a twenty eight-year-old adult. Smooth.
The next afternoon, she lingered by her secretary's station again. "Any visitors?" she asked, like it was casual, like she didn't care.
Her secretary blinked. "Visitors, ma'am?"
Sam forced a small smile. "Alexandra hasn't dropped by?"
"Oh. No, not lately."
Sam gave a small shrug. "Hmm. I see. Well, that's probably for the best. Less distraction." Her voice was smooth, professional. Controlled.
But when she walked back into her office, that control cracked a little. The chair felt emptier than usual. The room, quieter. And maybe slightly judging her for missing flowers she never accepted.
Later that week, the sky outside her window had turned pale with rain. Sam sat behind her desk, phone face-down beside a stack of paperwork she wasn't really reading. Every few minutes, her gaze flicked toward it—a reflex she couldn't quite stop. No new messages. No missed calls.
She exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair. Ridiculous, she thought. You're the one who hid every time she came by. Who does that? A twelve-year-old with a crush?
She remembered the last few times Alexandra had come by the office—how she'd ducked behind her workload, or quietly told her secretary, "Tell her I'm in a meeting." Each time, she'd listened to the sound of heels fading down the hall, pretending it didn't bother her. Pretending it was better that way.
But now that Alexandra had stopped showing up altogether, the silence sat heavy. The office felt too still, too neat.
And also... weirdly boring.
So why does it feel like something's missing? she wondered, her thumb hovering over the edge of her phone.
Am I... missing her?
The thought landed harder than she wanted to admit. Terrifyingly, yes. And also embarrassingly obvious.
Back in the present, Sam's jaw tightened.
"Did you stop visiting my office because you're too busy having coffee dates?" she whispered.
Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked unimpressed. Wow. Jealousy looks good on you, Sam. Very professional.
She sank deeper into her seat, biting her lip until it stung. You shouldn't care. She's just someone you hired. This is business. Totally, totally professional.
But her pulse said otherwise—quick, uneven, unprofessional.
"Yeah," she murmured. "We're still girlfriends. Technically. Contractually. Which means she shouldn't be seeing someone else."
Her reflection stared back—hair slightly tousled, lipstick faded, eyes sharper than she wanted to admit.
"No," she whispered, reaching for her lipstick. The red bloomed back to her lips like armor. And also a warning.
She leaned closer to the mirror, voice steady now.
"You're going to take back what's yours," she said quietly.
A beat.
Even if it's fake. And even if I look like a complete loon doing it.
With that, she opened the car door and stepped out, heels striking the pavement like a challenge as she crossed toward the café.
Inside, Alexandra was laughing softly at something Gwen had said—a rare, easy sound—when the bell above the café door chimed.
Sam's gaze locked on her instantly.
There she was—composed, radiant in a cream blazer, hair catching the light. And sitting across from her, a woman Sam didn't recognize, smiling, leaning close.
Something in Sam's chest twisted tight.
She strode toward their table before she could second-guess herself. The sound of her heels cut through the murmur of the café. Alexandra looked up—and froze.
"Sam?"
Sam stopped beside the table, her voice sugar-sweet and sharp as glass. "Yes, babe."
Every head within a few tables turned.
Alexandra blinked. "What—what are you doing here?"
Sam arched a brow. "Me? I should be asking you. What are you doing here? And who's this woman?"
Gwen's eyes widened, glancing nervously between them. "I—I'm—"
"She's my friend," Alexandra cut in quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite hide her panic. "Just a friend. We were catching up. That's all."
Gwen froze, uncertain if she was supposed to play along.
Sam tilted her head, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. "Oh? Just a friend?"
She turned her gaze to Gwen—cold, unreadable. "Then you won't mind if I borrow my girlfriend for a bit, right?"
Gwen swallowed hard, clutching her tablet. "N-no, of course not. I was just about to leave anyway."
"Good." Sam's tone softened—only slightly—as she turned back to Alexandra.
Before Alexandra could say anything, Sam's hand wrapped around her wrist. Warm, firm, impossible to ignore.
"Come on," she said quietly. "We're leaving."
Alexandra opened her mouth to protest, but her voice failed her. There was something in Sam's eyes—anger, yes, but something else too. Something that looked alarmingly like hurt.
Without another word, Sam pulled her toward the door. The café went quiet, every pair of eyes following the storm that just walked out.
-
The drive was quiet.
The city lights flickered across the windshield, painting fleeting patterns over Alexandra's face—gold, blue, then shadow. Neither spoke. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of rain starting to fall.
Sam kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, jaw tight, trying to steady the racing of her pulse. She didn't even know why she'd dragged Alexandra out of the café like that—impulse, maybe, or something uglier. She just knew she couldn't stand seeing her there with someone else.
When they finally stopped, they were parked in front of a restaurant—dim, quiet, the kind of place that smelled faintly of wine and warm bread.
They sat across from each other now, the glow of a candle flickering between them. The air was thick with everything left unsaid.
It was Alexandra who broke the silence first.
"What was that back there, Sam?" Her voice was calm, but her eyes—sharp, searching—betrayed her confusion.
Sam blinked. "What do you mean?"
"At the coffee shop," Alexandra said. "You just stormed in, dragged me out in front of everyone like a scene from a drama. She's just my friend."
Sam's lips curved, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, yeah? Looked a lot like you were about to kiss your friend."
Alexandra blinked, incredulous. "I was about to wipe foam off her lips, not kiss her."
Sam crossed her arms. "Can't she do that by herself?"
Alexandra tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief despite herself. "Are you... jealous?"
The question hit like a spark in the dark.
Sam froze. Was she? The realization made heat crawl up her neck. She opened her mouth—closed it again—then forced a breathy laugh. "Even if we're fake dating, you shouldn't be with another woman, Alex. What if someone from my family saw you?"
Alexandra leaned back slightly, studying her. "We weren't doing anything inappropriate."
"I know," Sam admitted, fiddling with the edge of her napkin. "But... it's better if we're careful."
There was a pause—then a small, teasing smile curved on Alexandra's lips. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't realize my girlfriend was the jealous type."
Sam rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, betraying the hint of a smile. "I'm not."
"Sure you're not." Alexandra grinned.
The tension between them began to ease—the sharp edges of the argument softening into something warmer.
After a beat, Sam cleared her throat. "Before I forget—Cassey's asking if you can come with us to her rest house this weekend. It's her bachelorette party."
Alexandra raised a brow. "Already? Her wedding's next week, right?"
Sam nodded, taking a sip of water to mask her unease.
"So..." Alexandra leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Should we still go on with the fake relationship? Am I still attending the wedding?"
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Sam had actually planned to end things before the wedding—to make it clean, easy. But as she looked at Alexandra now, at the familiar softness in her eyes, she couldn't bring herself to say it.
How could she, when she'd spent weeks rejecting every gesture, only to find herself missing them when they stopped?
She took a slow breath. "Yes. You'll still attend the wedding with me."
The words surprised even her.
Alexandra's lips curved into a genuine smile—bright, relieved, unguarded. "Good. Looking forward to it, babe."
That smile... something about it made Sam's heart falter.
It wasn't just polite anymore—not the kind of smile you give for show. It was softer, warmer, like it meant something more.
Did Alexandra actually want to be there with her?
Was this still part of the act—or something quietly shifting underneath it?
Sam didn't know. She just knew that for the first time in weeks, it felt right having her there again.
They ate after that—slow, unhurried bites between quiet conversation and stolen glances. The candlelight flickered between them, warm and low, the tension melting into something almost tender.
And as they laughed—soft, unplanned, real—Sam caught herself thinking:
Maybe love doesn't care if it started as a lie.