The choice settles in my chest like steel, driving out the doubt that still lurks in the back of my mind. I grab my coat and keys, my heart racing with each step towards the door. The storm is approaching, and I'm walking directly into it.
As I step outside, the crisp evening air stings against my skin, sharpening the edges of my determination. The city is alive with activity all around me—an endless, chaotic symphony of lights, voices, and movement. It's almost poetic, I think, that I'm going to turn my world upside down in a location as merciless and uncaring as this. For once, the city's invisibility feels like a stage for whatever happens next, rather than a shield.
The thought steadies me, but only slightly. My mind keeps circling back to Alexander. His sharp gaze, the faint smirk that always seems to tug at his lips, the way he manages to make every interaction feel like a challenge.I can almost hear his voice now: sardonic and taunting, but with a deeper undertone—a hint of curiosity, perhaps even respect. He will not make things easy for me. And perhaps that's why this could work.
By the time I go to the address the elderly woman gave me, my hands are trembling, but I'm not sure if it's from the cold or the weight of what I'm about to do. The building looms ahead, a beautiful brownstone nestled on a quiet street. It feels out of place, almost timeless, in contrast to the city's never-ending activity just a block away.
My breath fogs in the crisp evening air as I climb the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The brass knocker gleams faintly under the porch light, polished and ornate—one of those small details that seems to belong to a world more deliberate than my own. For a moment, I hesitate, my heart racing as doubt creeps in. What if this is a mistake? What if he slams the door in my face, or worse, doesn't care at all?
But I push those thoughts aside. I have already come this far. There is no turning back now.
I lift my hand to knock.
The sound echoes softly, and the resulting silence feels like an eternity. Finally, the door swings open, revealing Alexander Hayes standing in the low light of the doorway.
His eyes widen briefly before shifting to a sharper, more guarded expression. He's dressed casually, in a basic sweater and black pants, with tousled hair that seems like he's been running his hands through it all evening. But he exudes a calm intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
"Mia," he finally says, his voice full of surprise, but with a teasing edge. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I didn't know you'd be here either," I say, my voice tinged with trepidation. "I think I'm looking for your grandmother?" I say almost as an afterthought.
He blinks, his brow arched with amusement. "My grandmother?"
"Yes," I respond quickly, though his expression makes me unsure. "She gave me the address. "I did not realize..."
"That it might lead to me?" he adds for me, a sneaky smirk on his lips. "Interesting. Is this a new strategy for you? Showing up under the pretense of a family connection? "Bold move."
I bristle at his teasing, though the flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes makes it hard to take offense. "It's not a strategy," I say firmly. "She… your grandmother… I helped her a little ago and she suggested I'd come to find her."
His smirk fades gradually, giving way to a more contemplative expression. "She sent you to me?" He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "Now that's interesting."
"Is it?" I ask, unsure what to make of his abrupt change in tone.
"Oh, absolutely," he responds, his voice softening just enough to make me question what he is thinking. "My grandmother doesn't do anything by accident."
He indicates for you to enter. "Okay, Mia. Come inside. "Let's solve this mystery together." His eyes shine as a trace of his typical arrogance returns. "Although I must say, I am interested. My grandmother does not give out invitations to just anyone."
I step inside, the warmth of the brownstone wrapping around me like a blanket, but it does nothing to quell the flutter of nerves in my chest. The room is dimly lit, with shadows casting long fingers across the polished wood floors. The air smells faintly of old books and the faintest hint of jasmine—an odd, delicate contrast to the sharpness of Alexander himself.
He closes the door behind me, the soft click of the latch somehow louder in the stillness. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence feels heavy, like a challenge laid before us. It's not just the physical space between us—it's the invisible boundary that has always existed in our interactions, the tension, the games we've both been playing without quite acknowledging it.
"I'm surprised she sent you to me," Alexander concludes, his tone almost thoughtful. He leans against the doorframe, examining me with such intensity that my skin prickles. "I thought you'd be the last person to show up at my door."
"I didn't know where else to go," I confess, astonished by the candor that comes out. His expression softens slightly, but his smirk persists, the curve of his lips both tempting and aggravating.
"You didn't know where else to go?" He echoes, his voice nearly a whisper, but it's a question with a twist—an underlying curiosity that goes deeper than the mocking he typically provides. "What, you really are that desperate?"
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. There's a part of me that wants to snap back, to defend myself, but the truth is, his question feels strangely valid. The weight of the decision I made outside, standing in the cold with nothing but resolve and fear, feels heavier now that I'm here. What am I doing? The question lingers, but I don't voice it aloud. Not yet.
"I'm not desperate," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He pushes away from the doorframe and moves deeper into the room, motioning for me to follow. "Okay, Mia. You have me fascinated. But I'm betting this visit isn't only for the mystery family link you've mentioned. You didn't travel all this way simply to join in with my grandmother's little games, did you?"
I follow him into the living room, where lovely golden light streams from the lights, bathing everything in a pleasant glow. It is the type of room that feels lived in and with, rather than planned or forced. A tad sloppy around the edges, a little too cozy to be completely immaculate. It's the type of location where mysteries could hide in every corner and book on the shelf.
He sits down on the arm of an oversized chair, crossing his arms as he waits for me to speak, the air thick with unasked questions. For a moment, I hesitate. But then, I realize that hesitation is exactly what's kept me trapped for so long. It's time to stop second-guessing, to stop worrying about the consequences. I've already walked through the storm. Now, I need to face what's on the other side.