Chapter 6 – The Truth Between Us

Zander didn’t raise his voice.

That was what scared Kryzelle the most.

He stood by the window, phone still in his hand, his back rigid as the city stretched beneath him. Morning light painted the room gold, yet the tension between them felt sharp, cold.

“You’re not meeting him alone,” he repeated, slower this time.

Kryzelle wrapped her arms around herself. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me,” Zander said quietly. “Because right now, all I see is a man who thinks he still owns pieces of you.”

That hit too close.

“He doesn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “Not anymore.”

“Then why does he have leverage?”

Silence.

Zander turned to face her. There was no anger in his eyes—only concern mixed with something darker. Fear.

“You trusted me enough to let me stay last night,” he said. “But you’re still shutting me out.”

Kryzelle looked away. “Last night was a mistake.”

His jaw clenched. “Was it?”

She hated how easily he could unravel her.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed again. This time, Zander didn’t need to see the screen to know.

“He’s impatient,” he said.

She nodded.

“I’ll go,” she whispered. “I’ll meet him. End it.”

Zander took a step toward her. “Over my dead body.”

She scoffed weakly. “You sound dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

Something about his tone made her chest tighten.

“Zander,” she said softly, “this is my mess.”

“And now it’s my concern.”

She looked up at him. “Why?”

The question lingered between them.

He exhaled. “Because I care more than I should.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

They didn’t talk much on the way to the café.

The familiar smell of roasted beans greeted Kryzelle, grounding her. For a moment, things felt normal again—until she saw her.

A woman stood near the counter.

Tall. Elegant. Effortlessly polished.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she turned, eyes landing on Zander first.

Then softening.

“Zander.”

Kryzelle’s stomach dropped.

“Clara,” Zander said, surprised.

Clara smiled, stepping closer. “I heard you were back in Manila. You didn’t even text.”

Her gaze flicked to Kryzelle—assessing, curious.

“And you are?” Clara asked sweetly.

Kryzelle straightened. “I work here.”

Zander frowned. “Clara, this is Kryzelle.”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Clara said lightly. “So you’re the barista.”

Just the barista.

Kryzelle forced a polite smile.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” Clara continued, her hand resting on Zander’s arm like it belonged there. “Especially not—”

“Kryzelle isn’t just—” Zander cut in.

“I should get back to work,” Kryzelle said quickly.

She turned away before either of them could stop her.

Behind the espresso machine, her hands trembled.

Why does this hurt?

She told herself she didn’t care. She had no right to. Whatever she and Zander were—it was undefined, fragile, temporary.

Still, when she glanced up and saw Clara laughing softly at something Zander said, something inside her cracked.

Ethan chose that moment to arrive.

He leaned casually against the doorway, eyes locking onto Kryzelle with a smile that made her skin crawl.

“There you are,” he said. “Miss me?”

Her breath caught.

Zander noticed immediately.

He followed her gaze—and stiffened.

“Is that him?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Ethan’s eyes flicked to Zander, then to Clara, amusement dancing in them.

“Well,” Ethan drawled, approaching. “This is… crowded.”

Zander stepped forward. “You must be Ethan.”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“The man who doesn’t appreciate you threatening people he cares about.”

Clara blinked. “Threatening?”

Ethan chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. Just old memories.”

Kryzelle’s pulse thundered.

“Say what you came to say,” she snapped.

Ethan leaned closer. “Tonight. Eight. Same place.”

“No,” Zander said.

Ethan smiled wider. “She’ll come.”

“She won’t.”

“She always does,” Ethan replied softly.

Then he turned—and walked out.

The café felt suffocating.

Clara looked between them. “Okay… I feel like I walked into something.”

“You did,” Zander said grimly.

Kryzelle pulled off her apron. “I need air.”

Outside, she finally broke.

“I told you this would get messy,” she said, tears blurring her vision. “You shouldn’t be involved.”

Zander cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.

“You don’t get to decide that alone.”

Clara stepped out behind them, eyes sharp now. “Zander. Who is he?”

Zander hesitated.

Kryzelle felt it.

That hesitation.

Something ugly twisted in her chest.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said bitterly. “She’s important to you.”

“Kryzelle—”

“I’m just the barista, remember?”

She walked away before he could stop her.

Night fell faster than she expected.

Eight o’clock loomed.

Kryzelle stood in front of her mirror again—just like before—but this time, she wasn’t alone in the apartment.

Zander stood by the door.

“You’re not going,” he said.

“I am.”

“Then I’m coming.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other, stubborn and scared.

Finally, she whispered, “If you hear what he has to say… you might hate me.”

Zander stepped closer. “Try me.”

Her phone buzzed.

Ethan: Last chance.

Zander reached for her hand.

“Whatever happens,” he said, “you won’t face it alone.”

She squeezed his fingers.

Outside, a car horn sounded.

And somewhere in the city, a truth long buried waited to be unearthed.