Chapter 82 – Amber's Confession
They didn't let go.
Even after the street grew quieter.
Even after the city lights dimmed into that strange midnight blue where everything feels softer and more honest.
Amber's arms were still around him.
And Alex—
Alex was still holding her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
It wasn't romantic.
Not dramatic.
Not the kind of embrace from movies.
It was desperate.
Two people who had survived too much alone suddenly realizing they didn't want to anymore.
She felt his heartbeat against her cheek.
Steady.
Strong.
Alive.
For a man who claimed he didn't believe in love anymore…
He held her like love was the only thing keeping him standing.
That scared her.
Because she was starting to feel the same.
—
"You don't have to tell me anything," Alex said quietly.
She pulled back slightly.
"What?"
"Your past," he clarified. "You don't owe me a confession just because I told you mine."
Amber stared at him.
Of course he would say that.
Of course he would give her an out.
Because that's what controlled people did.
They protected themselves by avoiding vulnerability.
But something inside her was tired.
So tired.
Tired of being the strong one.
The sarcastic one.
The fearless Gareth sister.
The woman who didn't need anyone.
It was exhausting pretending she had never bled.
"I want to," she said softly.
His brows furrowed.
"I think…" She swallowed. "I think if I don't say it now, I never will."
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't rush her.
Just waited.
God.
Why was he so patient?
It made this harder.
—
They resumed walking slowly.
Side by side.
Their fingers brushed.
Then intertwined naturally.
No contract.
No performance.
Just instinct.
Amber stared straight ahead as she spoke.
Because looking at him would make her lose courage.
"I wasn't always like this," she began.
"I know."
"I used to be…" She laughed softly. "Pathetic."
"That's unlikely."
"I was," she insisted. "Hopeless. Stupid. The type of girl who believed in forever after two dates."
He didn't tease.
Didn't judge.
Just listened.
"There was this guy in university," she continued. "First love. First everything."
Her voice turned distant.
Like she was watching a younger version of herself.
"She wasn't as sharp as I am now. She believed everything he said. Trusted too easily. Gave too much."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"He said he loved me. Said we'd build something together. Said I was the only one."
Alex's jaw tightened.
He already knew where this was going.
"They always say that," he muttered.
She smiled bitterly. "Yeah."
A car passed.
Headlights sweeping across them briefly.
Then darkness again.
"I supported him," she went on. "Money. Connections. Time. I skipped opportunities for him. Turned down internships because he didn't want long distance."
Alex glanced at her sharply.
"You sacrificed your future for him?"
"I thought that's what love meant," she said quietly. "Choosing someone else first."
Silence.
"And then?"
She laughed again.
But it cracked this time.
"And then I found out he was engaged."
Alex stopped walking.
"What?"
"Engaged," she repeated calmly. Too calmly. "To a girl his parents approved of. Richer. 'Better family.'"
His hand tightened around hers.
"He'd been seeing her the entire time."
Rage flickered across Alex's face.
Dangerous.
Cold.
"If I ever meet him—"
"You won't," she cut in. "Doesn't matter anymore."
But it did.
She could still feel it.
That day.
Walking into a restaurant to surprise him.
Seeing him across the table.
Holding another girl's hand.
Smiling the same smile he used on her.
Like she'd been… practice.
"He didn't even look guilty," she whispered. "Just annoyed that I showed up."
Alex's chest burned.
"He told me I was 'fun'," she continued. "'Convenient.' But not wife material."
The words tasted like poison even now.
"I remember standing there thinking… is this what I gave everything for?"
Her throat tightened.
"So I stopped," she said simply.
"Stopped what?"
"Believing."
In love.
In promises.
In men.
"In fairy tales. In happy endings. In letting anyone get close enough to hurt me like that again."
She shrugged.
"So I built armor instead."
Sarcasm.
Confidence.
Sharp tongue.
Untouchable reputation.
"No attachments," she finished. "No expectations. No pain."
Alex looked at her like she'd just confessed a crime.
"You call that living?" he asked softly.
"It's surviving."
"I don't want you surviving," he said.
The words hit harder than they should.
"I want you living."
Her heart stuttered.
"Careful," she warned weakly.
"Why?"
"Because you're saying dangerous things again."
"Good."
She finally looked at him.
He wasn't cold.
Wasn't distant.
He looked… furious.
Not at her.
At what had happened to her.
"At some idiot boy who didn't know your worth," he said quietly. "At the fact that he made you believe you had to shrink yourself for love."
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
Why did it feel worse when someone defended you?
"I don't shrink," she muttered.
"No," he agreed. "You built walls."
He stepped closer.
"But walls don't protect you, Amber."
"They kept me safe."
"They kept you alone."
The truth landed heavy.
Because he was right.
All those years.
All that strength.
And still—
Every night—
Her bed had been empty.
Her laughter hollow.
Her success lonely.
—
"I hate that you make sense," she whispered.
"I'm very convincing."
She huffed a small laugh.
Then it faded.
"I'm scared," she admitted finally.
Three words.
Bare.
Honest.
Scarier than anything she'd said tonight.
Alex didn't hesitate.
"I know."
"If I fall for you," she continued, voice shaking, "and this ends badly… I don't think I'll recover twice."
He lifted her chin gently.
Not forcing.
Just guiding.
"Then don't fall alone," he said.
Her breath caught.
"I'm right here."
The city felt like it disappeared.
No board.
No cameras.
No contract.
Just this man.
This broken, stubborn, infuriating man.
Offering to break with her instead of leaving her.
"Alex…" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"If we do this… we can't half-do it."
"I don't half-do anything."
"Good."
A beat.
Then—
"I don't want to be your contract," she said.
"You're not."
"I don't want to be your obligation."
"You're not."
"I don't want to be convenient."
His eyes darkened.
"You're the least convenient thing that's ever happened to me."
Her lips curved.
"Good answer."
He stepped closer.
Their bodies almost touching.
"So what do you want to be?" he asked quietly.
Her heart pounded.
Terrified.
Certain.
"Chosen," she said.
Without hesitation—
"I already choose you," he replied.
And for the first time in years—
Amber Gareth felt her armor crack completely.
Not breaking.
Not shattering.
Just opening.
Enough to let someone in.