Gie had spent her entire life controlling herself.
She had built walls, prioritized her craft over romance, told herself that love and relationships weren't necessary when she had art flowing through her veins.
But maybe—
Just maybe—
Alina was right.
Maybe she was overthinking.
Maybe she needed to let go.
She had never felt this way about anyone else.
No one had ever made her ache, made her wet just by speaking, made her obsess over the thought of their hands, their mouth, their presence.
And if this was just desire, then why not indulge in it?
Why not take what she wanted for once?
It wasn't like she was looking for marriage.
It wasn't like Alexander was the kind of man to settle down.
But the idea of being with him—even if just for a little while, even if it was just to satisfy the unbearable hunger inside her—
That was tempting.
Too tempting.
So, she waited.
She waited for him to call again.
Waited for his name to flash on her screen, for him to pull her back into his orbit, for him to do something.
But he didn't.
A whole week passed.
And there was nothing.
No calls.
No messages.
Like he had simply moved on.
And it—
It bothered her.
More than it should have.
"You're being pathetic," Alina declared, sprawled across the couch, watching Gie pace her studio like an anxious teenager.
"I am not," Gie huffed, gripping her phone so hard she thought it might crack.
"You are," Alina said bluntly. "You've been checking your phone every five minutes, waiting for him to call."
"I'm not waiting for him!"
Alina gave her a look.
Gie clenched her jaw.
"I just— I don't know. I thought maybe—" She exhaled sharply. "Maybe I should just call him."
Alina sat up instantly.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Yes. Yes. Call him. Right now."
"I—"
"Gie." Alina grabbed her wrist, staring into her soul. "You never do this. You never chase anyone. If you want him, take him. But stop being a coward."
Gie swallowed.
Her heart pounded violently.
But she knew Alina was right.
So—
She called.
The phone rang twice before he picked up.
"Finally."
Gie's breath hitched.
His voice—low, smooth, completely unbothered—slid through the phone like a slow caress, making every nerve in her body come alive.
She swallowed hard. "I—uh—"
"I was wondering when you'd call," he murmured.
Her entire stomach flipped.
"You— You were waiting for me to call?"
A small pause.
Then—
"You're the one who's so busy," he said lazily. "I figured I'd let you reach out when you had time for me."
Oh, God.
The way he said it—so casual, so effortless, like he had been expecting this all along.
Like he had been waiting for her to break first.
She hated how easily he unraveled her.
"I—" she cleared her throat. "Do you need something?"
Another pause.
Then—
"Tonight," he said. "I need your help."
She frowned slightly. "Help with what?"
A slow exhale.
"My wardrobe."
Gie blinked.
"What?"
"I have a formal event coming up," he said smoothly. "I need to choose something appropriate. And since you seem to have a vision for me…"
Her breath caught.
"You—" She swallowed. "You want me to come over?"
"Of course," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And then—
"I'll send my car."
Gie told herself she was going for work.
Told herself that this wasn't dangerous, that she was just helping him choose clothes, that she wasn't walking into something she wouldn't be able to control.
But the moment she stepped into his penthouse again—
The moment she saw him, standing there, looking impossibly put together, impossibly powerful, impossibly devastating in his fitted slacks and dark dress shirt—
She knew she was lying to herself.
This was not work.
This was not professional.
This was a game.
And she?
She was already losing.