Chapter 8. Mixed Signals

8. Mixed Signals

I sat curled up in the corner of my hotel room, the darkness pressing in on me, a letter clenched in my trembling hands. The words replayed over and over in my head—I’ll always be around, through every high and low—each line sliding down my spine like ice. The door was locked. The curtains were pulled tight. Still, it didn’t feel enough. The room suddenly felt thin and fragile, like whoever wrote the note could see straight through the walls.

Back in New York, I’d convinced myself the letters were a stupid prank from someone in the office. But this? Here? In Argentina? My stomach twisted, and I was sure now that it was someone from outside who had closely followed me. Someone had followed me across continents, and watched me settle in. He had the audacity to slip an envelope under my door.

My phone buzzed from across, the sudden light from it making me flinch. I crawled towards it, and grabbed it with shaking hands.

It was a text from Arthur Vance. My pulse jumped, my fear derailing for a moment.

Hey, Ximara. I received those specs and sample designs today. Are you free to meet tomorrow? Maybe noon at the track?

I stared at the screen, my thoughts bouncing between disbelief and dread. Arthur Vance was texting me like this was completely normal between us.

My fingers hovered over the letter. What if whoever was watching me had my number too? And they would try calling or texting me.

I forced a breath. No. This was work. This was Arthur.

Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow then.

I hit send and set the phone down carefully. My eyes drifted back to the letter.

___________

Sleep never came. Morning arrived, and I’d spent most of the night staring at shadows and worrying about the stalker.

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, unable to ignore the dark circles under my eyes. I got dressed in a blazer and jeans, pulling together a version of myself that looked composed.

At the track, I found a quiet spot near the pits and spread out my sketches and tablet, burying myself in work to keep my thoughts from spiraling. Arthur had mentioned specs, so I prepped the updates, adding extra shelving, a full-length mirror, and deeper reds on the designs.

Right at noon, footsteps approached. I looked up—and there was Arthur. Hair slightly tousled, jacket slung over his shoulder, and that easy warmth in his smile.

“Hey, Ximara,” he said, genuinely pleased to see me.

“Hey, Mr. Vance,” I replied, standing, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

“Arthur,” he said gently. “Let’s skip the formal stuff.” He nodded toward my tablet. “Ready to dive in?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “I made some updates.”

I walked him through the revised layouts, pointing out the changes. He leaned in, close enough that I caught a hint of his cologne—clean, warm, grounding—and studied everything with focus.

“These are great,” he said, tapping the screen. “The shelving’s perfect. And the mirror is exactly what I had in mind. You really have an eye for this.”

Heat crept into my cheeks. “Thanks, Arthur. I wanted it to be functional but still something that fits you.”

He grinned, something bright sparking in his eyes. “You nailed it. Come on, let’s walk while we talk.” He gestured toward a quieter area behind the stands, and I followed, sketchbook tucked under my arm.

At first, we stuck to design—lighting, layouts, color palettes. Then the conversation shifted.

“So, Ximara,” he asked lightly, “who do you live with?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “We’re a family of five,” I said, trying not to get distracted by the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I’m the oldest. I have a younger brother and a younger sister.”

“Oh, the eldest daughter,” he said with a soft tease. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“You have no idea,” I laughed, though it came out a little thin.

He glanced over at me. “Is your family supportive?”

The question landed harder than I expected. My smile slipped before I could stop it, the color draining from my face. Arthur noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You don’t have to answer that. I didn’t mean to pry. Honestly, I was just trying to make a conversation, the general stuff.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, drawing in a slow breath. “It’s just… they’re not very supportive of my goals.”

I hesitated, weighing how much to say. I didn’t want to unload everything, but lying didn’t feel right either. If this ever became something more… he deserved honesty, at least in pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking, then who do you live with? If they’re not supportive, that must be tough.”

We reached a small table tucked beneath a tree, the shade a welcome relief from the heat, and we sat down. I chose my words carefully. “No, you’ve got the wrong idea. They care. In their own… complicated way. But I don’t live with them.”

It was only half the truth. They cared enough to try to control me, to push me toward a life I didn’t want, until I ran straight into Ali’s protection.

“Oh,” he said, a little sheepish smile crossing his face. “Got it. So who do you stay with? A boyfriend?” His brows lifted slightly, his tone light but curious, like he was testing the water.

My heart fluttered despite myself. Was he… asking? “No boyfriend, I am very much single if you can't tell already,” I said, a small laugh slipping out. “I live with my maternal grandfather—Alister. He’s been my rock since my grandma passed. He supports everything I do.”

Arthur’s smile softened. “You light up when you talk about him. He clearly means a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” I said, relaxing. “He really does. I miss him already. I haven’t talked to him since yesterday.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Arthur said, leaning back. “Alright. Your turn. Ask me something.”

I grinned. “I’d ask about your family, but the internet already covers the basics, your parents, your brother, all that.”

He laughed, low and easy. “The world knows whatever sliver I let it see. There’s a lot more they don’t.”

“Then I want the real version,” I said, resting my chin in my hands.

And he gave it to me. He talked about his parents and his brothers and his mother’s warmth and grace. The affection in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn’t the man from headlines and interviews; this was someone softer, grounded, and deeply grateful. Hearing him speak about his mother made something ache gently in my chest. I suddenly wanted to meet her, to see the woman who shaped that light in him.

“She sounds incredible,” I said when he finished. “I’d love to meet her someday.”

“If she visits while you’re here, I’ll make it happen,” he said with a grin that made me smile back. “Anything else?”

I hesitated, then asked the question I’d been circling. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I tried to sound casual, but my pulse definitely wasn’t. There was no record of it on the web, so that question was the actual reason for stretching this conversation to this point.

He went still for just a moment, his jaw tightening, then easing. “No,” he said, meeting my eyes. “No girlfriend.”

Relief washed through me, warm and unexpected.

He stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “Ready to head back?”

I nodded, and we walked inside together. When we split off into separate hallways, my thoughts tangled.

Was he flirting or just being friendly? The way he’d asked about my life felt personal… but maybe that was just who he was.

———————

Later, I met the other racers in a makeshift lounge near the pits, three guys to be precise.

“Ximara, right?” Jake said, buzz cut and ridiculously charming grin. “You’re the genius with designs?”

“That’s me,” I said, settling in. “Tell me what you guys need, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Shelves,” Max said immediately, stroking his scruffy beard. “Big ones. My lucky boots take up space.”

“Noted,” I said.

“Green lighting,” Jake added. “I look good in green.”

“Debatable,” Leo said, rolling his eyes. “I need a mini fridge.”

“Also noted,” I said, laughing.

Their energy was chaotic but easy, their jokes bouncing back and forth until I found myself smiling. I jotted down their requests. By the end, my sketchbook was full and my mood lighter.

———————

The day wore me down. By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, I was running on fumes. Arthur’s attention, or whatever it was, had stayed in my head all day.

Then I turned a corner.

And froze.

Arthur stood outside his room, leaning close to a blonde who was laughing as if he’d just whispered the funniest joke in the world. Her hand rested on his arm; his fingers brushed her shoulder.

My stomach twisted. Of course. He was like that with her too. Charming, gentle, and humble. It wasn’t special or only reserved for me. It was just who he was.

Heat crept up my neck; it was not anger, just embarrassment. I slipped past unnoticed; the spark I’d imagined was flickering out.

On the walk back, that prickling sensation crawled up my spine again. It was the same one I’d felt last night. Like someone’s eyes were glued to me from the shadows. I kept glancing back, but the hallways stayed empty and quiet.

By the time I reached my room, I was drained. I kicked off my shoes, collapsed onto the bed, and exhaled. For a moment, I tried to let the day melt off me.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Lara: Stephan sent a dress for the ball. It should arrive soon.

I smiled, grateful for something nice to look forward to.

Minutes later, a knock came. A staff member handed me two sleek, ribboned boxes. One labeled from Lara and Stephan.

I carried them inside, excitement fluttering… until I lifted the first gown.

My heart dropped. There was another box with a white, unlabeled envelope. My heart dropped. My guts twisted in a weird way

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