Page 90 of The Substitute Fiancée

As I set it back down, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Alexander steps inside. His gaze finds me instantly. He crosses the room quickly.

His hair is a mess, his features drawn, his eyes red-rimmed. He stops beside my bed, guilt and relief warring inside him.

“Sam…”

He kneels. His hands, still cold, settle over mine. I don’t pull away, but I don’t squeeze them either.

“I’m sorry. Your call came in just before I went back into a meeting. I’d turned my phone off.”

The explanation is simple, and he seems sincere.

“Are you okay? What did the doctors say?”

His voice is already shifting to facts, diagnoses, next steps. Too fast, like he’s trying to erase the distress I felt while I kept calling him.

Something closes off inside me.

“I’m fine,” I say evenly. “They’re keeping me overnight for observation.”

He nods, relieved. Then he really looks at me, and his expression changes.

“Fuck… Sam. I was terrified.”

He runs a hand through his hair. It trembles slightly, and I can’t tell whether it’s worry or guilt.

“I should’ve been there. I thought it was… like Kristel’s calls.”

My breath catches at his confession.

He saw my calls and consciously chose not to answer. Because he thought I was like her.

The realization is bitter.

I smile faintly, disillusioned.

“At least now I know where your priorities are.”

Shock flashes across his face, quickly replaced by panic.

“No. You don’t understand. That’s not what I meant. I made a mistake. This is all so new for me, I need time to adjust.”

Time. Time to forget Kristel. Time to truly love me. Time to make me his priority.

I turn my gaze toward the window, toward the city lights shimmering in the night.

“You don’t have to apologize. Your work is important.”

My voice is calm. Detached.

“No,” he protests immediately, panic creeping into his tone. “Nothing is more important than you. I was wrong. But I won’t make the same mistake again. You have to believe me.”

He’s sincere. I can see it. But words are easy. Promises, too.

I gently withdraw my hand.

“Sam, don’t do this.”