"Emily, about what you're doing," he started, his tone somewhat stern.
"This sneaky journalist approach, digging into my past, isn't going to get you anywhere."
Emily looked taken aback by his harsh tone and quietly replied.
"I'm just doing my job...
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***The Cold Reality***
Alex sat at the bar in his favourite pub, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass, a hollow look in his eyes. The laughter and chatter around him felt like a distant murmur, a faint soundtrack to his inner turmoil.
He was confused, his mind drifting between longing and doubt. Emily's smile, her warmth, the feel of her lips against his, they all lingered in his memory, tempting him, taunting him. There were moments when he thought he had felt something more, a connection that went beyond mere attraction.
But then doubt would creep in, and he would question it all. Was it real? Did she feel the same? Or was it all just a game to her?
His confusion was like a nagging itch, unsettling him, leaving him restless and on edge. He knew he should forget her and move on, but he couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unresolved.
He wanted to know, needed to know, what she really felt, what it all meant. But he was scared too, scared of what the truth might reveal, scared of what it might do to him.
Alex stared at Emily's name on the screen, his heart pounding, a storm of emotions raging within him. He didn't know whether to feel excited or angry, hopeful or resentful.
Why was she calling him? What did she want? Was she going to explain herself, apologise, or just play more games with him?
The phone buzzed again and again; each ring was a sharp reminder of the uncertainty that gnawed at him. He let it ring four times; each buzz was a challenge, a question, a plea.
On the fifth ring, just before it would have gone to voicemail, he picked it up, his voice tight with controlled emotion.
"Well, well, if it isn't Emily. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Alex cut the sarcasm. I need to talk to you. It's urgent," she snapped, her voice trembling. The tremor in her voice caught him off guard, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern.
"Urgent? Really?" he drawled, the clinking of glasses in the background echoing his own disbelief.
"I thought you were done with me. Has Marcus grown tired of you already? Or perhaps you need a replacement, a substitution?"
"Stop it, Alex. This isn't about Marcus, and it's not a game. It's something else, something important. Can we meet tonight?" Her voice was firm now, and he could sense the frustration in her tone.
"Tonight? I'm at a pub right now, enjoying myself. Why would I want to meet you?" he retorted, anger and bitterness rising to the surface.
