Chapter 30 Sep 17, 2025 POV Ruby The library's fluorescent lights hummed their familiar frequency as I spread my materials across the wooden table, claiming territory with textbooks and highlighters. Alex dropped into the chair beside me-not across, beside-his knee finding mine beneath the table with casual precision. He unpacked his own arsenal of study materials, the movement bringing his shoulder against mine. "Corporate restructuring or-" "Both. Mitchell wants a comparative analysis by Friday." I uncapped a highlighter, the chemical scent sharp in the hushed space. "Though I'm struggling with the Delaware precedents." "The poison pill cases?" Alex pulled my textbook toward him, his fingers brushing mine with deliberate slowness. "I wrote a paper on those last semester. The trick is understanding that Delaware courts favor process over outcome." "Meaning?" "Meaning they don't care if the board makes a terrible decision, as long as they document their terrible decision properly." His voice dropped to that register meant only for me. "Much like how we documented our way back to each other." "That's a terrible analogy," I said, but leaned into him anyway, feeling the solid warmth of his presence. "Miss Pearson, Mr. Whitmore." The librarian materialized beside our table, her expression stern behind wire-rimmed glasses. "This is still a shared study space. Please maintain appropriate volume and distance." "Our apologies," Alex said, not moving an inch away from me. "We're discussing Delaware corporate law. It's naturally exciting material." The librarian's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Third warning this week. Next time I'm separating you like middle schoolers." She retreated to her desk, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "We almost didn't study together before. Why didn't we do this constantly?" "Because before, I thought keeping you separate from the boring parts meant protecting you." Alex's hand found mine under the table. "Now I know that sharing the boring parts is what makes them interesting." * * * Thursday morning, Emma cornered me at our kitchen counter, her coffee mug steaming between us like an interrogation lamp. "You look different," she announced, her lawyer's instincts sharp as ever. "Happier. Less like you're about to detonate at any moment." "Thanks for the vote of confidence in my emotional stability." "I'm serious, Ruby." She studied me with uncomfortable intensity. "Two weeks ago you were crying in this kitchen. Now you're practically glowing. What changed?" I poured my own coffee, considering the truth. "I found a different angle on loving Alex. A way where curiosity and loyalty can sit on the same bench without fighting for dominance." "That's either incredibly mature or complete bullshit." "Maybe both." I met her gaze steadily. "But it's working. We're working. For the first time in months, maybe years, we're actually choosing each other instead of just following the script." "And the professor?" The question landed like a stone in still water. "What professor?" "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." "That's done." I said it simply, finally meaning it. "Filed under educational experiences, lessons learned, bridges burned for good reasons." Emma's expression softened. "You sure you're okay with that?" "I'm sure that some fires are meant to burn hot and fast, then extinguish." I grabbed my bag, heading for the door. "Otherwise they consume everything, including the person holding the match." * * * Strategic Management had transformed from minefield to neutral territory. I sat in my usual seat, took actual notes, and no longer traced Aiden's movements with hungry eyes. When he called on me, I answered with crisp professionalism. When our eyes met, I didn't look away, but I didn't linger either. The message thread between us had been deleted. Every photo, every midnight confession, every dangerous word-gone. My phone stayed silent during his lectures, face-down and forgotten. "Miss Pearson, explain the implications of transparency in competitive markets." "Forced transparency often creates the very problems it's meant to solve," I said, voice steady. "By revealing positions early, it gives momentum to moves that might have failed in shadow." "Excellent analysis." His tone remained perfectly professional. "Mr. Davidson, counter that position." Strategy Lab had evolved too. I still attended, still argued theories with passionate precision, but now Alex often joined me. He'd sit beside me, his presence unmistakable-relaxed but territorial, his hand occasionally finding my shoulder when making a point. "Ruby's position assumes rational markets," Alex interjected during a particularly heated exchange about behavioral economics. "But markets are people, and people are gloriously irrational." "Speaking from experience?" someone teased. "Absolutely," Alex said, his arm sliding across the back of my chair. "The best decisions I've made were completely irrational. Including fighting to keep this one." The possessiveness in his voice, measured but unmistakable, sent unexpected heat through me. This new version of Alex-confident enough to claim me publicly, secure enough to let me shine-was intoxicating in its own way. * * * Saturday arrived with an invitation to brunch at the Pearson estate. We drove out together, Alex's hand on my thigh while I controlled the music. "Your mother terrifies me," he admitted as we passed through the gates. "She calculates my worth and finds it lacking." "She does. But she thinks you're good for me, which matters more." I squeezed his hand. "Besides, Father likes you." The dining room received us with crystal and inherited china, weight in every place setting. But conversation flowed easier than it had in months. "You both look well," Mother observed, missing nothing. "There's a settledness that wasn't there before." "We've been fortifying our defenses," I said, catching Alex's eye. "Making sure no outside forces break through." Father laughed, rich and genuine. "That's my girl. Always thinking strategically." After lunch, while the men discussed some development that would reshape neighborhoods, Mother and I escaped to the garden. She handed me sterling pruning shears without ceremony, and we moved through the rose beds in our shared ritual. "I see wisdom settling where restlessness lived," she said, deadheading roses. "It means I raised a woman who learns without being destroyed." "I take after you," I said, meaning it deeply. "You taught me that sometimes the bravest choice is stability over chaos." "And sometimes chaos is necessary to find real stability." She examined each bloom with boardroom intensity. "The trick is knowing which moment demands which." Later, as dusk painted the sky rose and gold, I stood on the veranda with tea warming my palms. Through French doors, I watched Alex with my father in the study, their laughter carrying across the garden. Alex endured another telling of Father's first failure, reacting like it was new. The sound wove into evening air-comfortable, familiar, right. This was what choosing looked like: not explosive chemistry threatening destruction, but steady warmth that could last decades. Alex glanced up, caught me watching, and smiled-not his practiced social mask, but the real smile that made him look his age instead of forty. I raised my cup in salute. He winked before returning to Father's story. The present held steady around me-solid, warm, mine to keep. Some storms pass through to clear air. Some fires burn just long enough to show what's worth saving. I'd learned the difference. Perhaps that was the real education. THE END