Page 140 of Stranger to Love

My breath hitched. The room felt suddenly still. This wasn't just an offer to pay for dinner; this was the concrete reality of her words yesterday. She was offering to lift the entire weight of the world off my shoulders.

"Carrie..." I started, my voice cracking.

"Don't answer yet," she murmured, her gaze unwavering. "I know how independent you are. I know you take pride in your work. But you are mine, Alex. And I have the means to make sure you are never stressed, never exhausted, and never in a position where you have to serve anyone but me. If you let me, I would make you the centre of my world, in every sense."

I stared at her, overwhelmed. She was talking about taking the struggle, the grime of the bar, and the constant, gnawing anxiety of my parents' finances and simply making them disappear.

Carrie seemed to sense the exact moment my brain hit its limit. With a small, knowing hum, she detached herself from our tangle of limbs and reached for the tray, shifting her focus to the breakfast.

The clink of the silver spoon against the ceramic bowl was the only sound in the room. She began to stir the yogurt and fruit with a clinical concentration. The silence wasn't cold, but it was heavy. It was the silence of a woman who had laid her cards on the table and was content to wait.

"Carrie?" I finally whispered.

She didn't look up, but her movements slowed. "Yes, darling?"

"I can't imagine my parents would be okay with it," I said, my voice trembling. "Their pride... it’s too much. They’ve worked their whole lives. They won’t just let someone step in and take over. They’d feel like they’d failed."

Carrie set the spoon down and turned her head, a playful, knowing glint dancing in her dark eyes.

"Darling," she murmured, her voice taking on a teasing edge. "If this is something you want, I promise you I can be very... persuasive. There are ways to structure 'agreements.' We could call it a long-term investment, or a private grant. Just like I did with the TVs and those sofas. They accepted them, didn't they? The only question that matters, Alex, is whether you want it. Do you want to wake up every morning knowing you’re safe?"

I thought of the sticky, loud bar, and it felt like a lifetime ago. "I think..." I swallowed hard. "I think I’d be very easy to convince."

Carrie bit her lip, her gaze boring into me with a hunger that wasn't about food. She looked like a woman who had just won a war she’d been fighting in secret for months. But instead of pouncing, she simply nodded, the hunger banking down into a steady ember of satisfaction.

"Well," she said, returning to that smooth, professorial calm as she picked up the spoon. "All you have to do is ask, Alex. The moment you decide, I will arrange everything. It’s entirely in your hands."

The reality of the bar hit me like a bucket of cold, grey dishwater. The floor was still tacky with New Year's Eve spills, and the air smelled of stale hops and industrial cleaner.

My body felt heavy, a constant, low-thrumming reminder of everything Carrie had done to me over the last forty-eight hours. Every time I stretched to reach a high shelf, the pull of the denim against the marks on my thighs made my breath catch.

"Well, well, well," a voice whistled behind me.

I nearly dropped a glass as Mia leaned against the back bar, her arms crossed and a predatory smirk on her face. She raked her eyes over me, lingering on the high collar of my shirt.

"Aren't you just claimed ten-fold?" she said, shaking her head. "Look at you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mia."

"The hell you don't," she scoffed, lowering her voice. "You’ve got that look. Like you’ve been thoroughly... dismantled. And that jumper you walked in wearing? That’s more than a month's rent for me. Either you robbed a boutique or Dr. Vixen finally put you in your place."

I bit my lip, and the sharp sting of the broken skin made me flinch. Mia’s eyes locked onto it instantly.

"Holy shit," she whispered. "She really didn't hold back, did she? You look like you belong to her lock, stock, and barrel."

"She’s just... protective," I managed to say.

Mia snorted. "Protective? Alex, honey, you're wearing her brand like a signature. Is this because of her? Did Dr. Carter offer to put you in a glass case? Because Lex, you're a firecracker. You like your own money. You sure you're ready to be someone’s... project?"

"It's not like that," I said, defending the woman who had spent the morning telling me I was her life. "She just wants me to have a better life. A life where I’m not exhausted every single day."

"And what does she want in return?" Mia asked, her eyes narrowing. "Because women like that? They don't do free investments, Alex. They want the deed to the property. Moving toward being fully dependent on someone you’ve been dating for a couple of months? That’s a massive leap into a very small, very gilded cage."

"She loves me, Mia," I said, the words feeling brand new and fragile on my tongue. "And I... I love her. It doesn't feel like a trap. It feels like she’s finally giving me a chance to breathe."

Before I could even process the look in Mia's eyes, she grabbed my arm forcefully, dragging me across the floor and into the cramped, dimly lit staff room. She slammed the door behind us.

"Did you just say you love her? And she loves you?"