Alex Evans POV:
The next morning, my hand bandaged, my ankle throbbing, I made my way to the company' s regional office in Mendocino to sign the final termination papers. The air conditioning inside felt frigid, cutting through me.
As I walked down the sterile hallway, I saw them. Hudson and Kaitlyn. They were laughing, their heads close, exiting a conference room. He was holding her hand, a tender gesture that made my stomach clench, but oddly, not with pain. With disgust.
I kept walking, my gaze fixed straight ahead, my pace unwavering. I wasn't just detached; I was invisible to them. Or so I hoped. As I passed, I felt Hudson' s eyes on me, a sudden stillness emanating from him.
"Alex," he started, his voice low, a question in his tone. He must have seen the bandage on my hand.
Before he could say more, Kaitlyn' s hand squeezed his. "Honey, remember what my father said about the upcoming board meeting? We need to finalize those budget reports right away. He's expecting us." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes, when they darted to me, held a triumphant glint. A subtle, proprietary claim.
Hudson' s attention, which had been momentarily snagged by my wounded hand, snapped back to Kaitlyn. He merely nodded, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before they hardened again, focused on the woman beside him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He was being pulled back into her orbit, into the web of her family' s influence.
He' s just trying to save face, Hudson thought, his gaze lingering on Alex's retreating figure. She's hurt, angry. But she' ll come back. She always does. She loves me too much to let go. He had to handle her carefully, strategically. He' d apologize, express his regret about the promotion. Maybe even suggest a weekend getaway, just the two of them, like old times. He' d charm her, remind her of their connection. Maybe this time, he' d even mention meeting her parents. That always worked. A promise of a future, a glimmer of stability. Yeah, that was the play. He'd make things right. He swore he would.
Later that afternoon, Hudson, restless and distracted, left work early. He stopped at a florist, picked the most lavish bouquet he could find, and drove towards the Mendocino data center. He parked discreetly, watching the entrance. He wanted to "surprise" Alex, to catch her off guard with his heartfelt apologies and his grand gesture.
As the sun began to set, he saw her emerge. But she wasn't alone. She was with two men. Two unfamiliar men. One was older, dressed in a police uniform. The other, a younger man in casual clothes, had a protective hand on her elbow. Alex was limping, her bandaged hand visible. She was smiling, a genuine, easy smile directed at the younger man.
A cold, unfamiliar dread clenched Hudson's gut. Who was that?
His blood ran cold. Jealousy, sharp and virulent, tore through him. No. This couldn't be happening. Not Alex. She was mine. She always had been. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. She couldn't have moved on that fast. She wouldn't.
He remembered the way she used to look at him, her eyes shining with adoration when they first started their affair. "I' ve never felt this way about anyone, Hudson," she' d whispered, her voice full of youthful, innocent devotion. "You' re everything to me." He' d dismissed it then, a convenient truth, a useful sentiment. Now, the memory was a torment.
He took a deep, shaky breath. No, this was just a rebound. A temporary distraction. He knew Alex. She was fiercely loyal. She would forgive him. He just needed to be persuasive enough. He would apologize, beg if he had to. He would fix this.
He started the car, turning towards the motel where Alex was staying. He was going to find her. He was going to make her listen. He was going to win her back. He had to. The thought pounded in his head, a desperate, frantic drumbeat.
He drove to her apartment building, a vague sense of unease growing with every block. What if she wasn't there? What if she'd gone straight home? No, she wouldn't do that without telling him. She wouldn't just disappear.
He pulled up to her building, bouquet in hand, a fierce resolve hardening his features. He was going to confront her, make her see reason, make her understand that he was here for her. He stomped up the stairs, his heart pounding, a grim determination mixed with a burning suspicion. He felt like he was hunting, searching for a truth he didn't want to find.
As he reached her floor, he saw something that stopped him dead in his tracks. Her apartment door was wide open. And two burly men, movers, were carrying out her furniture, piece by piece. A hollow, sickening feeling bloomed in his chest.
"What's going on here?" Hudson demanded, his voice hoarse, the flowers almost dropping from his trembling hand. "What are you doing with Alex's things?"
One of the movers, a burly man with a tattoo on his arm, grunted. "Moving them out, mate. She decided to pack up and leave."
Just then, the landlady, a plump, kindly woman, emerged from Alex's apartment, wiping her brow. She saw Hudson, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, Mr. Booth! I didn't realize you were still... around. I'm surprised Alex didn't tell you she was vacating the apartment." She looked genuinely puzzled.
Hudson felt a tremor run through his entire body. His insides turned cold, then hot, then numb. Vacating the apartment? The words echoed in his head, mocking, disbelieving. No. This couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare.
"Vacating?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, his throat dry. "What do you mean, 'vacating'? She's not... she can't be leaving."
