Nico

The spot on the right side was perfectly made, as if he had never lain there at all. My heart gave a sharp, uncomfortable twist. I had barely slept, replaying every second of last night in my head like a bad qualifying lap I could not stop analyzing.

A firm knock sounded on the door again, and when I opened it, it was a different attendant—the one who had handed me the first aid kit last night.

"Good morning, sir. Your clothes are ready," he said, gesturing inside the room.

"Where is Alaric?" I asked immediately. "The man who was sharing the room with me."

The attendant nodded without hesitation. "Mr. de Villier got ready early this morning and has already met with Mr. Richard in the lobby. He asked me to prepare your clothes and leave them for you." He pointed toward the bed, where a neatly folded stack of my clothes—freshly cleaned, pressed, and dry—lay waiting. "Everything has been laundered and dried overnight as promised."

I thanked him quietly, my chest tightening again. Alaric had left without a word. Not even a glance back.

I closed the door and stared at the clothes for a long moment. The guilt from last night settled heavier on my shoulders. I had told him he was not ready, but standing here now, it felt like I was the one who had pulled back too soon.

Because if I had let myself go further, I would not have stopped—and that was the part I had been trying to hide from him.

I carried the clothes into the bathroom and got ready quickly but carefully. The hot water from the shower helped clear some of the fog in my head, but it did nothing to erase the memory of Alaric’s taste or the way his body had responded to me.

I took the fastest shower possible, and within a few minutes, I was done, dressed in grey joggers and a grey hoodie.

I ran a hand through my curls, then headed out of the room.

When I finally stepped outside the small inn, the morning light hit me full force. The storm had passed completely, leaving behind a world that looked almost unreal in its beauty.

I had not seen it last night because of the storm, but now that I did, everything felt unreal.

We were in a tiny coastal village on one of the lesser-known atolls in the Maldives. Crystal-clear turquoise water stretched out in every direction, a calm lagoon protected by a distant reef.

Gentle waves lapped against the wooden jetty that extended from the inn’s deck straight into the sea. Palm trees swayed lazily in the light breeze, their fronds still glistening with leftover raindrops.

The air smelled of salt, fresh vegetation, and the faint sweetness of tropical flowers blooming along the path. Small traditional wooden boats bobbed gently at the end of the jetty, their colorful hulls reflecting the bright morning sun.

This place was stunning, I had to admit.

Mr. Richard was not in the lobby when I walked out, but I spotted him near the entrance, dressed in a crisp white shirt and trousers, looking clean and composed.

If only he had any idea what we had faced last night.

"Mr. Park, good morning. I must apologize again for the difficulties you and Mr. de Villier faced last night," he said, extending his hand. "I hope the accommodations were at least tolerable despite everything."

I shook his hand firmly and waved off the apology with what I hoped was a convincing smile. "It’s fine, really. No need to apologize. These things happen. We survived." My mind flashed back to the walk in the forest, the darkness, the panic, Alaric’s hands on me, and then everything that followed.

"Thank you for arranging everything on such short notice."

Mr. Richard nodded gratefully. "Of course. The boat is ready to take you both to the main airport. Your flight arrangements have been confirmed."

I glanced around, searching for any sign of Alaric. "Speaking of which... where is Alaric? The attendant said he already met with you."

"He’s already on the boat," Mr. Richard replied smoothly. "He insisted on boarding early. Said he wanted some fresh air after the storm."

My stomach dropped, because I knew what that meant. Alaric had left because he did not want to face me. He was ignoring me.

I thanked Mr. Richard again quickly and headed straight for the jetty, my steps faster than necessary.

The wooden planks creaked softly under my feet as I walked toward the waiting boat at the end. The turquoise water sparkled beneath me, so clear I could see small fish darting around the pilings.

When I got to the boat, I saw it was a traditional-style motor launch with comfortable seating under a canopy.

Alaric was already seated near the back, dressed in his own clean clothes, staring out at the lagoon with his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line. His injured ankle was propped up carefully, and he did not turn when he heard my footsteps.

I stepped onto the boat and moved closer, sitting down across from him. Then Mr. Richard joined us but sat a few spaces away.

The engine idled softly, ready to depart, and for a moment, I just looked at him. His eyes were fixed on the water as the boat started moving.

I clenched my fists tightly as I thought of what to say, and when I finally did, I called out his name.

"Alaric," I started, my voice low but loud enough for him to hear. "About last night... we should talk. I didn’t mean to walk out like that. I just—"

He finally turned to face me, his expression cool and controlled, every trace of the vulnerable man from the bed gone. His hazel eyes were guarded. "We should keep things professional between us, Mr. Park."

The formal address hit like a cold slap. That was not the reaction I had expected.

I leaned forward slightly, refusing to let him shut me out completely. "Professional? After everything that happened? You can’t seriously expect me to pretend nothing changed."

Alaric’s gaze flicked toward Mr. Richard, then back to me. "What happened last night was... a mistake born of the storm and the circumstances," he muttered. "I don’t care about it anymore, and I would appreciate it if we kept our interactions strictly professional from now on. No more personal discussions. No more... anything else. We are rivals on the grid. That has not changed."

I felt a flash of frustration mixed with something sharper—hurt, maybe. Or desire. Or both.

"A mistake?" I repeated, keeping my voice low so no one else would hear. "You reacted like it meant something, and now you want to call it a mistake? I saw how you looked at me, Alaric. I felt how much you wanted it."

His jaw tightened, but he did not look away. "I was vulnerable. The power outage, the ankle, the stress of the trip—it clouded my judgment. It won’t happen again. We have careers to think about. Sponsors. The team. The press would have a field day if any of this got out. So yes, Mr. Park, I expect us to keep things strictly professional."

I let out a short, bitter laugh, leaning back against the seat as the boat began to pull away from the jetty. "You can call me Mr. Park all you want, but we both know what happened in that room was real. You can deny it to yourself if you need to, but don’t lie to me. I was there. I held you. And you didn’t pull away."

Alaric’s eyes flashed with warning. "Drop it, Nico. I mean it. This conversation is over. We are colleagues at best, and only when absolutely necessary. Focus on the season ahead and try to beat me on the grid like you promised."

I wanted to argue, to counter his words, but Mr. Richard had his gaze fixed on us, so I let it go.

The boat picked up speed, cutting smoothly through the lagoon toward the open sea. The wind whipped through my curls, carrying the salt air, but it did nothing to cool the heat still simmering between us.

I watched Alaric for a long moment, the way he stared out at the horizon like he could will the distance between us to grow.

Inside, my guilt twisted tighter. I had walked out because I thought I needed control—but now I wasn’t sure if stopping had made things better or worse.

And now he was shutting me out entirely, hiding behind professionalism like it was armor.

But I could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the edge of the seat just a little too tightly. He was not as unaffected as he wanted me to believe.

I leaned back, watching him, and made myself a quiet promise.

This was far from over.