Lost In Her Emotions (A Forbidden Love)

Chapter 4: Heartbeat

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The winter break, once a comforting cocoon of quiet evenings and introspective conversations with Gin, had come to an end. The biting cold of January returned with it, crisp and sharp, cutting through the gentle calm I had grown used to. My school routine resumed, dragging me back into the fast-paced whirlwind of academics, meetings, and student council duties.

It was strange to be back in the familiar hallways of the elite academy, where I was known not just as the daughter of a billionaire, but also as the top student and president of the student council. The weight of these titles hung heavier on my shoulders now. The responsibilities, the eyes on me—it all felt strangely distant, like a life I had lived before but no longer fully belonged to.

Before winter break, my life had been dominated by grades, accolades, and the constant pressure to be perfect in every sense. But now, there was something—or rather, someone—that had become just as important. Gin. He had become my sanctuary, my quiet retreat from the world's expectations. Every day, I found myself counting down the hours until I could return home to him.

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The school bell rang, signaling the end of another long day. My first week back had been a whirlwind of meetings, preparation for the upcoming student council elections, and maintaining my standing as the top student. It was exhausting, but I couldn't let it show. Not when so many eyes were watching, waiting for any sign of weakness.

"Alexandria, don't forget about the charity event next week," one of the council members reminded me as we left the meeting room. "We still need to finalize the guest list and confirm the venue."

"I'll handle it," I reassured them with a smile, my voice composed and confident. Inside, though, I was counting the minutes until I could leave the school and return to the one place that felt like home now—my house, where Gin was waiting.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and hushed conversations in the library. Even during lunch, my mind wandered back to him, wondering what he was doing at that moment. Was he reading one of the books we had picked out together? Or maybe observing the world through the window, cataloging data about human life with that quiet, intense curiosity that always intrigued me?

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When the final bell rang, releasing us from the academic grind, I wasted no time. I grabbed my things and headed straight for my car. The drive home was short, but it felt like an eternity, the city streets and fading winter sun blurring into one as I sped through the familiar roads.

As I walked into the house, the warmth hit me immediately, melting away the cold that had seeped into my bones throughout the day. There, in the living room, was Gin, sitting by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light. The sight of him—his posture calm, his face turned toward the horizon—brought an unexpected sense of peace that I hadn't realized I needed so badly.

He turned as soon as he heard me enter, his face lighting up with a smile that always felt too human, too real. "Welcome back, Alexandria."

"Hey," I replied, dropping my bag on the couch and crossing the room toward him. "How was your day?"

"It was productive," Gin said, his tone as steady and serene as ever. "I spent some time analyzing new data sets, and I read more of the book you recommended. But I have to say, I've missed our conversations."

I smiled, sitting down next to him. "Me too. School's been intense. It's like they're trying to make up for the break by cramming in as much as possible."

Gin nodded, his gaze softening as he studied my face. "You seem tired. Perhaps you're overextending yourself."

I sighed, leaning back against the cushions. "Maybe. It's just... I have to be perfect, you know? The top student, the best president, the perfect daughter. Everyone expects it."

"You've been all those things for so long," Gin observed. "But is it what you truly want? Or is it what others want from you?"

The question hit me harder than I expected. I had asked myself that before, late at night when the weight of expectations felt suffocating. But hearing it from Gin, spoken with such genuine concern, made me pause. "I don't know anymore," I admitted softly. "It used to be. But now, it feels like I'm just going through the motions."

Gin's hand, warm and steady, rested gently on mine. "You don't have to be perfect all the time, Alexandria. You're allowed to be human."

The words were simple, but they resonated deeply. For so long, I had pushed myself to meet everyone's expectations, but with Gin, I didn't have to. I could just be myself—flawed, uncertain, and imperfect.

We sat there for a while, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence as the world outside grew darker. It was these moments that I cherished most—when I could let go of the pressures of my title, my role, and just exist in the quiet presence of someone who didn't expect anything from me.

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The new routine settled in over the following weeks. Mornings were a blur of preparation, throwing myself into schoolwork and council duties with the same determination I always had. But now, it felt different. There was a new sense of balance, a quiet comfort in knowing that no matter how exhausting the day became, there was always the promise of returning home to Gin.

At school, my reputation as the top student and student council president remained intact. I delivered speeches, organized events, and navigated the politics of high school with ease. But in the back of my mind, there was always Gin—his calm voice, his gentle presence, waiting for me at home.

And every evening, when I finally returned, we would sit together, sharing thoughts and moments of quiet reflection. Gin would ask about my day, and I would tell him everything—about the latest council projects, the endless debates, and the small victories that no one else seemed to notice. He listened, truly listened, in a way that no one else did.
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One evening, after a particularly grueling day of meetings, I found myself venting to Gin about the constant pressure. "Sometimes I just want to disappear," I confessed, slumping into the couch. "To run away from all of it."

Gin watched me carefully, his blue eyes filled with an understanding that went beyond mere data. "You don't have to disappear, Alexandria," he said quietly. "You just need space to breathe. And if that's what you need, I'll be here, always."

I looked at him, and for a moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. In a world that demanded so much from me, Gin was my one constant, my one refuge from the chaos. And in that moment, I realized just how much I had come to rely on him.

As winter slowly gave way to spring, my life continued its relentless pace. But no matter how fast the world spun, no matter how high the expectations rose, I always had Gin—my quiet sanctuary in the storm.