After opening the car door, Alaric saw the floral bouquet on the passenger seat. He had planned to give it to Aveline in the car. He grabbed it and returned to the office instead.
As he walked into the silent second hall, he heard Aveline’s soft voice that barely reached him: "I’m scared."
Scared?
He had just learned the previous day how she had swallowed down humiliation and faced everything alone. Now what was she scared of?
Before he could take another step, she continued, "Scared that good things disappear when I reach for them. Scared they’ll label ... question about Damien, about my divorce. And..."
Alaric was confused. Who was she scared of? Who were ’they’?
Aveline hesitated, then added, "His mother t ."
Whose mother? It couldn’t be Damien’s mother questioning her about Damien, then...
Isabella?
Alaric froze. A velvet dagger stabbed straight to his chest at the thought of it.
Her voice turned feeble as her head dropped. "I don’t think I’m ready to face his world. Not yet."
His jaw clenched so tightly the muscle ticked along the side of his face. He was certain Isabella had t Aveline. As if to confirm his deduction, Scarlett looked shocked at the sight of him.
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of restrained fury flickering in their depths. He didn’t trust his mother. She was making his nightmare co true by eting Aveline.
And him?
How could he let Aveline walk straight into a house of knives?
And... Aveline could have told him. Yet she didn’t.
Why would she tell him?
She had learned to fight alone. But this ti, she was fighting his war, not hers.
He could understand her fear, but he wanted her to trust him, believe in him. He wasn’t going to vanish the mont things got complicated.
He wasn’t going to beco another ghost in her life.
Though every nerve in his body wanted to find Isabella, he didn’t move, not when he didn’t know what Isabella might have told Aveline.
How much damage could have been done in just a few words?
More than all that, he wanted to listen to Aveline first, when she stood there confused and wary.
He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on her face, trying to read every flicker of emotion.
Scarlett quickly moved away to give them space, but stayed close enough to be there for her friend.
When he lifted his hand, Aveline looked at the bouquet but t his eyes again. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath, afraid of complicating things between her, Alaric, and Isabella. But how he stayed composed helped her breathe.
He extended his hand. "For your first day at Grace and Bloom." It was the official opening day of Grace and Bloom.
Aveline accepted the bouquet, but her gaze still waited to hear from him.
"Enjoy your dinner," he said curtly, his voice unreadable. "We need to talk once you return."
Aveline wasn’t sure why she had expected him to get angry at his mother. She felt dumb after hearing him. "I’ll call you," she responded, feeling relieved.
He turned and walked away. No, he wasn’t storming out in anger, but each step felt deliberate and controlled.
Aveline couldn’t help but swallow hard, watching his retreating form. If it were simple, Alaric should have defended his mother or said sothing about it. But he didn’t.
Either Alaric didn’t care, or he was keeping it simple for her by hiding the storm within.
Scarlett stood beside Aveline and blinked in bewildernt. "Well... that was terrifyingly calm."
Aveline just stared after him, her pulse loud in her ears. When they weren’t even committed, why was she worrying so much about it?
Why was she nervous about the conversation later?
Though she couldn’t understand his intention to postpone discussing the hot-potato, she would have been more at ease if they had spoken about it imdiately.
Thus, she was too chanical throughout dinner. It was Scarlett who bonded with her team instead of her.
....
At Ivory Towers,
After dropping Scarlett off, Aveline reached Ivory Towers. Her fingers hovered over the elevator button to head to the penthouse, but she resisted. She went to her apartnt instead. She showered while pondering if she was ready for the conversation.
But she wasn’t even sure what made her fearful. The conversation itself? Being questioned about her behavior with Isabella? Or Alaric ignoring the incident despite hearing about it?
While blow-drying her hair, she sighed several tis at how she was becoming fearful and uncertain when it ca to relationships. It was supposed to be smooth and honest, not so stressful.
"Stop overthinking. Just face it. What’s ant to be yours will be yours. Let go of what isn’t ant for you."
She told this to her reflection. Yet she also knew it was easier said than done when feelings were involved. Knowingly or unknowingly, she had let her feelings bloom for Alaric.
The worst that could happen was getting hurt and learning another lesson. It couldn’t get any worse than what Damien had done to her before her regression.
Wearing a cozy and chic knit V-neck sweater and wide-leg pants, she dialed Alaric’s number. She said softly, "Hello..." when he answered the call.
[Co upstairs.] His voice remained gentle.
Pouring herself a cup of golden tea in her small tumbler, she went upstairs. He opened the door when she rang the doorbell.
Aveline’s gaze lingered on his ribbed loungewear, too relaxed to be formal, too tailored to be careless, as she stepped inside.
Her nervousness eased when she saw a warm throw on the couch, waiting for her. Under the golden glow of the lights, the black interior appeared warr, and the city’s night view outside was outstanding.
Passing by the piano and noticing the open keyboard, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing a few keys. A soothing tune erged from the piano.
"A master pianist?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Alaric was already sitting like he owned not just the building but the world. He signaled her to co closer as he responded, "Average."
She obediently sat down. Though not next to him, his hand could still reach her if he extended it.
"And you?" he asked, because the keys she had pressed ford a tune from the famous ’Clair de Lune.’
Aveline shook her head. "I was into dancing."
"Dance?" He wasn’t aware of this. "Which form?"
Aveline pursed her lips behind her tumbler as she took a sip of her tea and said with a straight face, "Strip dance."
Alaric fell silent. Though he didn’t want to, his thoughts ran wild.
"Lap dance," Aveline added, struggling to bury her smile. Alaric caught it.
"Sunshine," he said, his voice carrying a warning mixed with amusent, "Stop playing with ."
Aveline giggled and responded, "Ballet."
Alaric was surprised. If he wasn’t wrong, ballet was one of the most difficult dance forms, requiring imnse physical and ntal dedication, precision, and a high level of technical skill. "Do you still practice?"
Aveline breathed a long sigh at the question. "No. I wasn’t able to focus due to my addiction to coffee. While getting over it, I haven’t practiced again."
When Alaric’s eyes moved to her tumbler, Aveline chuckled. "It’s chamomile tea." She offered it to him.
He didn’t decline. He tasted it and didn’t like it. He passed the tumbler back to her.
After a brief silence, he finally spoke. "Sunshine, you should have told she ca to see you."
Aveline paused. She looked away from the view of the city lights and turned to him. "Do you know what she told ?"
His expression hardened at that question. "That isn’t hard to guess. Maybe ’she doesn’t like you’ or told you ’not to bother .’"
A faint frown appeared on her forehead. He had guessed correctly. "A mother should discuss her opinion with her son first. So I thought you two weren’t on good terms." And she was right. Hence, she hadn’t felt the necessary to tell him.
She had just escaped one horrible family. He didn’t want to rush her into his family drama. So he spoke truthfully, "Sunshine, it’s complicated. I’ll tell you soday."
Aveline didn’t want to overthink or judge anyone. She chose patience. "Okay," she simply accepted, nodding her head.
After a beat, he continued, "Honestly, my world isn’t ready for you." He was disappointed that he hadn’t done anything to change that.
Aveline tilted her head, surprised by how smoothly he was handling it, how he wasn’t blaming her but acknowledging the problems in his family.
"Sunshine, rember, you don’t have to face my world alone," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his emotions. "You don’t need to impress or please anyone." He hoped she wouldn’t fear that she wasn’t ready for his world.
Aveline realized that Isabella eting her was more burdenso for him than for her.
Most importantly, she loved how he not only prioritized her feelings but remained calm and collected instead of being hotheaded.
Now, it was her responsibility to ease him. "Not even you!?"
Alaric took a mont to realize she was teasing him about impressing and pleasing him. He was glad he could reduce her tension a bit.
"I’m not just anyone," he said with a deadpan expression. "Go on, perform for ." He pointed at the space between the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and himself. "Strip dance is highly recomnded."
Aveline’s surprise was replaced with dramatic shock. "You wish! That’s only for my future husband." She playfully stuck her tongue out.
He nodded confidently. "I’ll rember that."
Aveline blinked, caught off guard by how easily he said it. A blush crept up her neck before she covered it with a scoff.
Teasing aside, "Seriously, you should start practicing if you love ballet." It was a talent to master ballet.
"Now?" Aveline looked at her bare feet. "My ballet shoes are downstairs."
Alaric didn’t know much about dance, but he was determined to learn about it for her. "Maybe so simple moves without shoes?"
As the night deepened, Aveline danced barefoot, laughter echoing, her heart light. They didn’t speak of Isabella again. There was only music, movent, and the unspoken rhythm growing between them.
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