Alison was brushing her hair when the knock came. Soft at first. Then firmer. She paused. Her heart stuttered. No one ever knocked like that.
She walked to the door slowly, barefoot, pajama shirt hanging loose around her thighs. Her eyes still tired. Her body sore from everything she was carrying inside. She opened the door a crack.
When she opened it, her brows lifted slightly.
A well-dressed man in a tailored charcoal coat stood on the porch, flanked by a sleek black sedan parked a little too confidently by the curb. His hair was neat. His eyes unreadable.
"Good morning, Miss Thompson," he said smoothly. "I hope I'm not intruding."
She tightened her arms across her chest. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Daniel Morello," he said, extending a hand. "CEO of Morello Global. I heard you recently left Lauren Enterprises."
She didn't shake his hand. Just blinked. "How did you—?"
"I have people who watch the ground when talent falls through the cracks. I'd like to offer you a role. Something far better than what you left behind."
Alison hesitated. She wasn't expecting that. Her body tensed. "Mr. Morello, thank you… but I'm not in a place to take on anything right now."
His smile was subtle. "Not even something tailored to you? No offices. No pressure. Full creative control. We'll pay three times what Ralph Lauren was giving you."
She shook her head gently. "I really appreciate the offer. But I need some time."
"I understand," he said, as though he truly did. Then, "Mind if I leave my card?"
She nodded once. He slid it into her palm, careful not to touch her skin.
"Think it over," he said with a bow of his head.
She offered him a small, tired smile. "Have a good day, Mr. Morello."
"Likewise, Miss Thompson."
She closed the door.
Ten minutes later, as she was back in the kitchen reheating leftover jollof, a second knock came. Firmer. More certain.
She opened the door again, slower this time.
"Mr. Morello…?"
He smiled like he hadn't just been here. "Just one more thing. The gala invitation? It's yours too. Black dress, champagne, the works."
Alison's jaw clenched. "I said I need time."
"And I heard you. But sometimes, time just wastes time."
She didn't smile this time. "No."
He tilted his head slightly. "Alison—"
"I said no!" Her voice cracked. Then, "I'm not interested in working for another arrogant man who thinks my life is his puzzle to fix."
And with that, she slammed the door, harder this time.
Silence.
Then the soft sound of a card being slid through the mail slot.
She stared at it on the floor.
"Call me," his voice came through the door. "If you ever get tired of surviving."
Footsteps. Then nothing.
Alison stood there for a long while, the card gleaming at her feet like a secret.
.....
The sunlight was barely filtering through the drawn curtains when Ralph stirred, blinking against the dull throb behind his eyes. His suit jacket had been removed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, covers gently tucked around him. There was warmth on the pillow beside him, a presence that was no longer there—but had once been. For a moment, he just lay still, letting the soft silence anchor him. Then he turned his head.
A folded piece of paper sat on the nightstand beside a glass of water. His heart stuttered.
He reached for it with groggy fingers, unfolded it.
You should rest. I'm glad you're safe. Next time, don't keep it all inside. —Alison.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his eyes lingering on her handwriting like it might disappear if he blinked.
No bitterness. No anger. Just... quiet understanding. It made his chest tighten.
He remembered flashes of last night. The way her voice softened as he opened up about Jane. The pain in his chest when he admitted he'd been left behind. And her—
Her eyes when she spoke of Derek. The way her lips twisted, not in longing, but in frustration. And how she'd tucked him in, like someone who still cared.
He ran a hand through his hair, slumped against the headboard, the note still in his fingers.
He'd told her. He'd finally told someone the truth: that Jane wasn't the woman people thought she was. That she'd walked away because she didn't want to love him while figuring out who she wanted to become. That there had never been a kiss. No betrayal. Just abandonment.
And Alison had listened.
A strange warmth moved through him—not relief exactly, not gratitude either. Something messier. Hopeful. Raw.
There was something comforting about her presence last night. Not just her body but her silence, her patience. The way she didn't press. The way she saw him.
He stared at the note again. She'd seen past the headlines, past the name, the suit, the cold office stares—and hadn't flinched.
Then came the buzz.
His phone, dimly lit on the bedside table, blinked to life.
1 New Message: Morelle
He picked it up, the screen glowing:
"Mr. Lauren, final confirmations are in. The Board expects you at the gala tonight. I also sent an invitation to the candidate you approved. Let's pray she accepts. It's not easy to find someone who makes the room stop like she does."
He smiled faintly, his thumb hovering over the screen.
"Let's hope," he murmured.
Because for the first time in a long time, he felt something settle inside him.
Alison wasn't Derek's girl. Jane wasn't his future. And maybe, just maybe, this time—he didn't have to run from the past or pretend he wasn't hurting.
He folded the note gently and placed it back where he found it. Then he stood, slower than usual, and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open with a tug.
The day had barely started, but something already felt different. He felt different.