Chapter 12 Sep 17, 2025 I was halfway down the corridor to Strategic Management when I spotted Alex outside the seminar room. His laughter bounced off the glass cases, drawing others like moths to flame. The cluster of classmates around him leaned in, hanging on whatever story he was spinning, and for a moment I saw him as everyone else did-bright, generous, the kind of man who made any crowd feel steadier just by being there. The ache that followed hit harder than expected. If he was this good, this naturally magnetic, why couldn't we crack something new open together? Why did my thoughts keep drifting toward dangerous territory, toward hands that weren't his? The current of students shifted, and that's when she appeared. The girl peeled away from the flow like she'd been choreographed for it, moving straight toward Alex with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no. She was the kind of beautiful that made other conversations stall-legs that went on forever, hair that caught light like it was personally offended by shadows, and a smile that suggested secrets worth knowing. The guys flanking Alex exchanged glances-half appraisal, half envy-while their eyes tracked the considerable real estate between her neckline and hemline. But Alex kept his gaze fixed on her face with the relaxed courtesy he wore like designer armor in public. "You're Alexander Whitmore, right? You published that paper on emerging market volatility in the Columbia Business Review?" Her voice carried just enough academic interest to make the approach seem legitimate. "I'm taking Professor Lewis's methods class, and there's this section about correlative risk factors that's been driving me insane. I was hoping you could help me untangle it." She touched his arm as she spoke, a gesture so practiced it looked accidental. The spark that shot through me was hot, unfamiliar, and fitted with unnerving precision-as if jealousy had always been there, waiting for the right moment to ignite. "The correlative factors section is definitely dense," Alex responded, shifting slightly so her hand fell away. "Lewis loves to assign that paper because it makes students actually think through the mathematical proofs. What specific part is giving you trouble?" "Well, there's this whole thing about standard deviation in emerging markets that seems to contradict your thesis about volatility clusters." She leaned closer. "Maybe we could grab coffee and go through it together? I learn so much better with individual attention." The subtext hung in the air like a neon sign. Every guy in the vicinity looked ready to volunteer as backup tutor. I crossed the distance between us with deliberate calm, my heels clicking against marble in a rhythm that announced my arrival before I reached them. My hand found Alex's forearm with the kind of casual possession that sent a clear message. "That paper is brilliant, isn't it?" I said, offering the girl a smile warm enough to seem friendly, sharp enough to draw blood. "Alex knows that methodology better than anyone-he spent three months on the mathematical proofs alone. Actually, we were planning to review it together later since I'm expanding on his thesis for my advanced markets course." The girl's eyes flicked between us, registering the claim being staked. "Though if you're really struggling with the standard deviation section," I continued, my fingers tracing small circles on Alex's arm, "you should probably start with Hendricks' foundational paper on volatility modeling. Alex based his work on that framework, so understanding the source material would help. But I'm sure Professor Lewis mentioned that already." "He might have," she said, her smile cooling by several degrees. "I'll check my notes." "You should do that. The mathematical proofs won't make sense otherwise." I tilted my head, letting concern color my voice. "Oh, but Alex, didn't you have that thing after class? The one we discussed this morning?" "Right," Alex said, catching on immediately. "The thing. Can't miss that." The girl retreated with a murmured thanks, her heels clicking a rapid staccato of defeat. The cluster of guys dispersed, suddenly remembering they had places to be. "That was interesting," Alex said once we were alone, his voice carrying something between amusement and appreciation. "I don't think I've ever seen you territorial before." "Maybe you weren't paying attention," I said, still feeling the adrenaline of marking my territory so publicly. "Or maybe I finally had a reason to remind people that you're taken." "I liked it," he said simply, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. "I liked seeing that fierce side of you. Makes me want to inspire it more often." That evening, he followed through on the promise, texting me to dress warm and meet him at seven. He drove us across the city to the Whitmore Foundation building, using his family's access codes to reach the rooftop terrace where his mother hosted her spring galas. "How did you manage this?" I asked, taking in the transformed space. Paper lanterns glowed between planters, casting golden light across a small table set with pastries from our favorite bakery and a proper tea service-the kind with delicate cups that demanded careful handling. "The head gardener owes me several favors from when I helped his daughter get into Columbia," Alex said, adjusting the telescope he'd somehow procured from the physics department. We settled at the table, the city spreading below us. Alex poured tea with unexpected precision, remembering exactly how I took it-one sugar, no milk, borderline scalding. "Tell me about the constellations," I said, surprising myself with genuine curiosity. "You mentioned camping trips when you were younger." "My grandfather insisted on them every summer before he died. Just trees and stars and his stories about navigating by celestial markers." Alex moved behind the telescope, adjusting the focus with practiced ease. "Here, look-that's Cassiopeia. The vain queen punished to spin eternally in the sky." I peered through the lens, finding the distinctive W shape against the darkness. "She doesn't look particularly punished from here. She looks permanent." "Maybe that's the real punishment," Alex said, his hands settling on my shoulders as I looked through the telescope. "Being fixed in place forever, unable to change or grow or surprise anyone." I turned to face him, seeing something raw in his expression. "Is that how you felt? With us, before everything happened?" "Sometimes," he admitted, pulling me closer until I stood between his knees, his hands framing my face. "We were so perfect on paper that I forgot we were supposed to be messy and real and unexpected too. But what you did today, claiming me like that in front of everyone-Ruby, I haven't seen that fire in you before. Or maybe I wasn't looking hard enough." "You've always been mine," I said, the words coming easier than expected. "I'm sorry I haven't reminded you of that recently. Sorry I let us become routine instead of choice." He kissed me then, soft and searching, tasting of tea and possibility. "I love you," Alex whispered against my lips, the words carrying the weight of history and hope. "I love every version of you, especially the one who scared away that girl." "She had it coming," I said, letting him pull me onto his lap, feeling the familiar comfort of his arms around me. "Besides, someone needed to protect you from obvious gold-diggers with questionable research skills." "My hero," he laughed, and the sound was warm enough to chase away the evening chill. "Though I'm perfectly capable of deflecting unwanted attention." "I noticed. You kept your eyes remarkably north of her neckline." "Years of practice with your mother's charity events," he said, his hands finding the small of my back. "Though none of them ever made me think twice. Not when I have you."