The Promotion

Chapter Twenty-Three

About a week after the party, life had settled into what I told myself was normal. Or at least, what should have been normal.

Calum had started his new job at the call centre, and every day he came home eager to tell me about it—about the calls he'd taken, the people he'd spoken to, the small victories that made him feel like he was finally moving forward. I listened, nodded, smiled in the right places. I wanted to be proud of him. I was proud of him.

We were trying. Truly trying.

Slowly, carefully, Calum and I slipped back into old habits—shared dinners, quiet evenings, familiar touches. We became more intimate again, relearning each other's bodies like muscle memory waking up after a long sleep. And yet... something wasn't right.

There were no fireworks.

No rush of heat, no dizzy loss of breath when he kissed me. I told myself that passion faded in long relationships—that comfort replaced chaos, that stability mattered more than sparks. But the truth sat heavy in my chest, impossible to ignore.

Sometimes, while Calum's arms were wrapped around me, while his lips brushed against mine, my thoughts would betray me.

Alexander.

I hated myself for it. Hated the way my mind wandered when it shouldn't. Hated that I wondered where Alexander was, what he was doing, who he was with. Hated that his absence felt louder than Calum's presence.

Work only made it worse.

Alexander barely spoke to me anymore. Our conversations were clipped, strictly professional. He only addressed me during meetings or when he needed something specific. If he walked past my desk, he did so without even glancing in my direction. Each time, it felt deliberate—like he was punishing me, or worse, like he'd erased me entirely.

More than once, I had to physically stop myself from calling his name. From demanding he look at me. From shaking him and asking why.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit.

That morning, I sat at my desk, tapping my nails impatiently against the surface as my eyes stayed glued to his office door. I told myself I was waiting to do my job. That it was professional.

But I knew better.

The handle finally moved.

I straightened immediately, snapping my gaze to my computer screen and pretending to type. Alexander stepped out, phone in hand, already half-absorbed in whatever was on it. He didn't look at me as he headed toward the exit.

"Before I forget," he said suddenly, pausing mid-step. "One of my business deals fell through. I don't know why. Follow it up—it's put me at a loss."

"Uh—yeah. Sure," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

He gave a brief nod and turned to leave again.

"Alexander," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He paused, irritation flickering briefly across his face before he masked it. He turned back to me.

"You've been invited to a formal ball tonight."

That got his attention.

"What ball?" he asked, slipping his phone into his pocket as he walked back toward my desk.

"Mrs Bingham's ball," I replied, double-checking the email.

His reaction was immediate—and baffling.

"Mrs Bingham?" His eyes widened. "Jane Bingham?"

"Yes?" I said slowly. "Is that... bad?"

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he paced the length of the room, one hand running through his hair.