Catalina paced her room in restless silence, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug as the muffled sound of rain echoed softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the city glistened under a blanket of stormlight, silver streaks of water cascading over the glass like tears. It was as if the heavens themselves had conspired to mirror the war within her chest—an emotional storm, violent and unrelenting.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Her heart pounded in anticipation and fear. A thousand what-ifs tangled in her head, each more haunting than the last. Could she really leave behind the world Alexander Moretti had wrapped around her like golden chains? Could she sever the magnetic pull that drew her to him every time they breathed the same air?
She moved to the window and pressed her forehead against the cold pane, closing her eyes. She needed clarity, a moment of peace before the chaos. But all she saw behind her lids was the memory of him—his hands gripping the edge of her desk as he leaned in too close, his voice like velvet laced with danger, his touch that still lingered like a phantom across her skin.
A knock snapped her from her thoughts.
Not the staff. It was too late for room service.
"Catalina," came the low voice from behind the door. It wasn't a question. It was a statement—intimate and inevitable.
Alexander.
She hesitated. Everything in her screamed to ignore him, to fortify the invisible line she'd drawn in the sand. But her feet betrayed her, moving on their own. She opened the door slowly, meeting his eyes in the dim hallway.
He didn't wait for permission. He stepped inside like he belonged in her world, like he always had.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, closing the door behind them.
He took one long step forward. "Neither should you. But that hasn't stopped us before."
The air between them crackled. The way he looked at her made the world blur—like she was the only thing that existed in his universe.
"I can't sleep," he said quietly. "Not with the thought of you running away from me."
Catalina's breath caught in her throat. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to." His gaze bore into hers. "You're pulling away. I feel it. Every time you avoid my touch, every time you look at me like you're drowning in guilt."
She turned her face away, hiding the tremble in her jaw. "You can't feel what I feel, Alexander."
He reached for her, fingers grazing her wrist. "Try me."
His touch sent a wave of emotion crashing through her. Memories bloomed—his laughter echoing across the vineyard, the way he had danced with her under the stars, how his lips had tasted her name like a vow.
"Let me in," he whispered.
"I'm already halfway gone," she replied, voice cracking. "I have to do this. For myself."
He clenched his jaw, struggling to remain calm. "Then tell me the truth. Was any of it real?"
Her heart shattered. "It was all real. That's why it hurts so much."
Silence settled, thick and unbearable.
"I would burn the world for you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't make me start with this city."
Catalina shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "Don't say that."
"I mean it."
His fingers slipped beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his. The proximity made her ache. She wanted to fall into him, to abandon the plan, to be selfish for once.
But she couldn't. Not when everything was on the line.
"You made your choices," she said, voice steady now. "And so have I."
Alexander stepped back as if struck.
"Then let me say goodbye properly," he said, voice husky.
He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deliberate. It wasn't lustful—it was a plea, a goodbye, a promise. Catalina melted into it, her hands gripping his shirt, nails digging in like she could hold on a second longer.
When they pulled apart, both were breathless, undone.
"I'll find you," he whispered against her forehead. "Wherever you go."
Catalina didn't respond. She watched him walk out of her room and out of her life—at least for now.
Once the door clicked shut, she slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands.
She had made her decision. There was no turning back.
But her heart? It was still his.