Breaking the Ice

I hear the doors open long before I see him.

That heavy, unmistakable thud of Alexander’s footsteps crossing the marble foyer — confident, collected, and commanding even after a fourteen-hour day. The mansion shifts when he walks in, like it inhales. Like it waits.

And I wait too.

It's been five days now since we last spoke. We've been circling each other like two planets pulled toward the same orbit but terrified of crashing.

But tonight… I’m done being silent.

I stand at the top of the staircase, fingers curled around the railing, heart throbbing so loudly I swear it echoes off the walls.

Alexander steps inside the mansion, the weight of the day hanging off his shoulders like an expensive, invisible cloak. His tie is gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his jaw sharp with exhaustion.

He doesn’t see me yet.

Mrs. Langston greets him. He nods. He’s polite, but distant. Cold, even. The kind of cold a man wears to survive an empire.

I take a breath.

“Alexander.”

His head lifts immediately.