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The Cost of Love

Author: Zira_tony
last update Last Updated: 2025-07-05 09:51:38

CHAPTER 10

Lexi's POV 

The sunlight slipped through the blinds, stabbing straight into my eyes. I blinked, groggy and aching as if I had fought a storm and lost.

My face felt tight. Puffy. Salt-streaked. As expected, I spent the night half tossing and turning and half crying; it’s the only time I get to do that. The sound of cars and buses passing outside was already giving me a headache, while the world continued moving along as if nothing had changed.

But something had.

I sat up slowly, every muscle in my body heavy, as if even gravity didn’t want me to get out of bed today.

I turned toward Aria’s bed, expecting to see her still curled beneath the covers, like she always was. But the blanket was neatly folded. It was empty.

A flicker of panic raced through my chest until I noticed a note on the nightstand. Her handwriting, loopy and artistic as always, brought me a moment of comfort.

“Had to meet someone—nothing serious! I made you coffee. Drink it before you turn into a grump. Love you more than chocolate, and I'll be back before work.”

—A

She even doodled a little heart and a sunflower next to my name.

I smiled—just barely, and dragged myself out of bed.

In the kitchen, the coffee was still warm. Strong, with just one cube of sugar—just the way I liked it. My heart ached. It wasn’t the coffee that caused the pain; it was the love behind it. Her way of saying, “I see you. I know you’re breaking, but I love you anyway.”

I sat down at the table, letting the warmth from the cup seep into my palms. I stared into the dark liquid as if it might hold answers at the bottom. It didn’t.

I took a slow sip, cradling the mug in both hands.

My phone buzzed on the table. Dan.

I considered ignoring it, but I picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” I said, my voice scratchy.

“You sound like you got hit by an emotional freight train. How are we feeling this morning? Still rich and emotionally conflicted?”

I sighed. “I’m still me, if that answers your question.” I closed my eyes and sighed again. “Not sure. Floating somewhere between panic and numb.”

“That’s valid. Want to talk?”

“No. Yes. Kind of.”

He paused. “I’m here either way.”

Silence.

Then I whispered, “I think I’m going to do it.”

Dan didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Is this because of the money, or because you feel like there’s no other way?”

I swallowed. “Both. But mostly because of Aria.”

There was a pause.

“Lex… whatever you decide,” he continued, “I’ve got your back. Okay? Whether it’s yes or no. Even if it’s marrying an emotionally unavailable billionaire who probably lists ‘ice cubes’ as a personality trait.”

I laughed—just once—but it helped. “Thanks, Dan.”

“I mean it. Just… promise me something?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t lose yourself in this. Don’t forget who you are, okay? You’re not a pawn, Lex. You’re the queen.”

I smiled faintly. “That was smooth.”

“I try.”

“Just know that whether you marry the Ice King or deck him in public, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“Thanks again, Dan.”

“No need. Just… take care of yourself too. I know you’re always protecting everyone else, but I see you.”

His words lingered long after we hung up.

I sat in the quiet kitchen, mug pressed to my lips, letting the silence settle around me.

Then I stood up and headed to the drawer, opening it.

The card was still there.

**Brandon Wilson  

Private Line**

It felt like a deal with the devil, but also... a lifeline.

I didn’t touch it right away; I just stared.

Then, like a memory had been waiting for the right moment to knock the breath out of me, it came.

**Flashback**

Ten-year-old me was fidgeting by the doorframe, clutching my doll in one hand and pouting hard enough to make my cheeks ache. 

Aria was seven and sick again. 

I stood by the window, arms folded, pouting so hard my face hurt.

“Why do I have to stay inside?” I whined to Abuela. “I want to play with the other kids. I’m tired of watching Aria.”

She looked up from the stew she was stirring and fixed me with one of her steady, no-nonsense gazes. “¿Y tú crees que a Aria le gusta estar enferma?” (And you think Aria likes being sick?)

I looked down at the floor, ashamed.

“She doesn’t want to be in bed,” Abuela continued, her voice firm but kind. “She wants to run and play just like you. But right now, she needs you more than the swings do.”

I whined, “But Aria’s asleep now, and I’m bored. She’s always sick, and I never get to go anywhere!”

Abuela turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, apron smudged with flour. Her eyes—tired, wise, fierce—settled on me with a look that could crack stone.

“Alexis,” she said softly, “come here.”

I dragged my feet, still holding my doll like it was my defense.

She knelt in front of me, wiped her hands on her apron, and cupped my face in her warm palms.

“Mi amor,” she said gently, “I know it’s hard. I know you want to play and run and be free. But Aria… she needs you.”

“But I’m just a kid too,” I mumbled, tears threatening.

She kissed my forehead.

“Sí(yes), but you’re her big sister. And that means you protect her. Even when it’s not fair. Even when it hurts. That’s what family is. We hold each other up when the world tries to knock us down.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing my frustration. Abuela hugged me tight. 

“Un día, she’ll remember that. One day, you’ll be proud you stayed.” 

It was then and there that I realized I was her protector, and I always would be. 

I blinked back to the present, my eyes stinging again. My chest felt heavy and raw, but also... resolved. 

I picked up the card and returned to my chair, setting down my coffee. I needed to sit; if I didn't, I felt I might pass out. I picked up my phone, dialed the number, and pressed the call button before I could overthink it again. 

It rang once. Then, “Yes, Alexis,” came his voice. Crisp. Calm. Like he’d been expecting my call. 

I froze. He knew it was me? 

Of course he did. If Brandon Wilson could figure out my sister’s medical status, where I worked, and every personal detail from just a headline and a photograph, tracing my number was probably child's play.

I took a breath. “I’d like to meet.” 

“To negotiate?” he asked, his voice unreadable. 

“To talk,” I replied, “and see what this deal of yours really means.” 

There was a pause. Then, “As you should.” 

My jaw tightened. I hated how smug he sounded, even when he wasn’t saying much at all. 

"I'm not agreeing to anything," I said. 

“No, you're not. We will just talk, as you said yourself,” he replied.

“I’ll send the details. Today, after your shift.” 

“Fine.” 

I ended the call before he could say anything else. I stood up, phone in hand, breathing hard. 

The deal had begun, whether I liked it or not. He knew it, and I knew it. 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. I moved through the apartment like a ghost, too tired to think and too anxious to sit still. I washed dishes, folded clothes, and organized a drawer that hadn’t been opened in months. 

I kept glancing at the door, wondering if Aria would walk in early and sense that something was different. 

Part of me wanted to tell her I’d made the call. Part of me wanted to keep pretending I hadn’t. 

By the time noon rolled around, I was getting dressed for work. I stared at myself in the mirror— the girl in the mirror. She looked like me. But she wasn’t. Not really. She was someone stepping off a cliff with no parachute. And smiling like she wasn’t about to break.”my hair pulled into a low bun, minimal makeup, clean uniform. On the outside, I looked fine. But inside, I was unraveling.

I packed what I would need, knowing it was going to be a long shift. I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, “Just make it through the shift.” 

And I would. I had to. 

Because whether or not this deal was the right choice, it was the only option I had left. 

I would walk through it. For Aria. For us. 

Even if it meant walking into a storm I couldn’t see the end of.

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