By the end of the week, Lena was living in two worlds.
In the mornings, she was still the struggling architect — hustling freelance gigs, riding the subway with the tired crowds.
But in the afternoons, she crossed into Alexander Kane's orbit — a quiet, hidden world of impossible possibilities, where every glance between them sparked a thousand forbidden wishes.
She told herself she was managing it.
She told herself she was still in control.
But then Saturday happened — and everything cracked.
The townhouse door was already open when Lena arrived, papers and samples tucked under one arm.
Music drifted out — soft, low, something jazzy and old.
"Alexander?" she called softly.
No answer.
She stepped inside cautiously, letting the door click shut behind her. The sunlight poured through the study windows, illuminating a table now cluttered with two coffee mugs — and a woman.
Tall.
Blonde.
Flawless.
She lounged casually in one of the armchairs, swirling the last of her coffee in the cup like she owned the place. Her designer heels dangled from one manicured foot.
When she spotted Lena, her mouth curled into a smile — one without any warmth.
"You must be the architect," the woman said, her voice dripping something Lena couldn't quite name. Pity? Amusement?
Lena's fingers tightened around her folder. "I'm here to meet Mr. Kane."
The woman laughed lightly. "Of course you are."
Before Lena could say more, Alexander appeared — looking rumpled and disheveled in a way she had never seen. His dark sweater hung loose, his hair was slightly mussed.
And his expression — when he saw Lena — flickered with something suspiciously like guilt.
"You're early," he said, recovering quickly, slipping back into that smooth, untouchable persona.
"I can come back," Lena said stiffly, already backing toward the door.
"No." His voice sharpened, urgent. "Stay."
The blonde stood gracefully, brushing imaginary dust from her perfect jeans.
"Relax, Lex," she said, using the nickname with a cruel familiarity that made Lena's stomach knot. "I'm leaving."
She glided toward the door, pausing beside Lena just long enough to murmur, "He builds beautiful things. But he breaks them, too."
And then she was gone, the door whispering shut behind her.
Silence exploded in her wake.
Lena stared at Alexander, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs.
"Friend of yours?" she asked, trying — and failing — to keep her voice light.
Alexander ran a hand through his hair, the rare crack in his armor making him look almost boyish. Almost vulnerable.
"It's not what it looked like," he said.
"Then what was it?" she asked, too sharp, too exposed.
He hesitated — and the hesitation gutted her more than any lie could.
"Just someone from before," he said finally. "Before all of this."
Lena hugged her folder tighter to her chest, fighting the sting behind her eyes.
She shouldn't care.
She had no right to care.
They had boundaries.
Rules.
Still, it felt like standing barefoot on broken glass.
"Look," she said, forcing her voice into something professional, something cold. "If this project isn't a priority anymore—"
"It is," he said quickly, stepping closer. "You are."
She flinched at the intensity in his voice, at the truth she saw naked in his eyes.
"You have no idea what you're getting into, Lena," he said, rough and low. "No idea what it costs to be near me."
She met his gaze squarely, even though every instinct screamed at her to run.
"Then tell me," she whispered. "Give me a reason to stay."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His hands flexed at his sides, helpless.
"I can't," he said, brokenly.
And somehow, that hurt worse than if he'd confessed to a thousand sins.
Lena turned away, blinking back the tears she refused to let him see.
"I should work," she said stiffly, laying her sketches on the table. Her hands shook, but she forced them steady.
Alexander didn't argue.
He simply stood there, a silent storm.
And for the rest of the afternoon, they worked — like strangers pretending they hadn't just glimpsed the fault line beneath their fragile, beautiful thing.
Hours later, when she finally fled into the fading dusk, Lena knew two things for certain:
One — she was already in too deep.
And two — Alexander Kane was not a man easily forgotten.
But maybe, just maybe...
he was a man worth fighting for.
If she dared.