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"Please, just a minute."
Finally, she faces me, those hazel eyes locking onto mine with a guarded coolness that makes my chest tighten. She’s poised to flee, I can tell, but this time, I'm not letting her escape—not without hearing me out.
"Look, I know I've been...difficult," I start, hating how inadequate the word sounds for all the tension I've caused between us.
"Difficult?" she echoes, one eyebrow arching in challenge. "That's one way to put it."
Her sharp tone stings, but it's deserved. I’ve been pushing her, testing her, trying to ignite some reaction, any sign that she cares. But the cold truth is, I've been acting like a damn fool.
"More than difficult," I concede, stepping closer. "I've been a jerk. And I'm sorry."
The air between us charges with the weight of my admission. She blinks, surprise flickering across her face before the mask of indifference slips back into place.
"Apology accepted," she replies mechanically, turning as if that's all there was to say.
But I reach out, lightly grasping her arm. "Wait, please." It's a plea, raw and unguarded. "I need you to hear me out."
She hesitates, and I can see the internal struggle playing out behind her stoic gaze. Finally, she nods, granting me this chance—a chance I can't afford to waste.
"I've been trying to provoke you into...into something," I admit, my hands clenching at my sides. "But I realize now it's not working. It’s not what I want."
"Then what do you want, Austin?" Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor beneath it that only I would recognize—one that tells me she’s not as unaffected as she appears.
I take a deep breath, knowing that what I say next might change everything. "I'm scared of losing you," I confess, the words tasting of vulnerability. "And I don’t know how to fix things."
For a moment, silence hangs heavy between us. Then she steps back, her gaze softening just slightly, as if my honesty has chipped away at her defenses.
"Being scared doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk," she says quietly, but there's a note of understanding in her voice that wasn't there before.
"I know, and I'm truly sorry." My throat tightens as I add, "I don't want to lose you, Skylar."
There’s a long pause where neither of us moves. The distance feels like miles rather than feet. She watches me, examining my face for sincerity, and I let her look—I let her see the fear, the regret, all laid bare.
"Okay," she finally murmurs, a word that feels like the first step on a bridge over an abyss. "Let's talk."
I watch her face, trying to read the thoughts swirling behind those guarded hazel eyes. She crosses her arms, a clear line of defense, and leans back against the cool wall, putting space between us.
"It was just sex," Skylar declares, her voice firm but lacking its usual sharpness. "We both got what we needed. End of story."
The words sting, a slap of denial that I know isn't true. She's pushing me away, retreating into that shell where she believes she's safe from the complications of emotions. But I see theflicker in her gaze—the one that speaks of something deeper, something she's too stubborn to admit.
"Don't do this," I say, stepping closer, determined to breach the distance she's so expertly placed between us. "It wasn't just sex. Not for me, and I don’t believe it was for you either."
She turns her head, refusing to meet my stare, and I take another step, close enough now that I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, she complies, and in that moment, with our eyes locked, I let down my walls. "I'm scared," I confess, the words coming out in a rush. "Scared to let you in. Scared to lose control, scared to lose...you."
Her expression softens, but she remains silent, giving me the space to continue.
"Everything in my life has always been about maintaining order, control. With you, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and every moment with you is a step closer to falling." My voice breaks, but I push through. "And yet, here I am, telling you that despite the fear, despite not knowing how this could ever work, I'm afraid of things not working out and losing you anyway."
She gasps softly, and I wonder if she realizes how much it costs me to reveal these insecurities. The CEO, the man who commands boardrooms and bends deals to his will, is laying himself bare before the woman who's managed to unravel him.
"Sky," I say, my tone softer, imploring, "I need you to understand that I've never felt this way before. I'm not asking you to decide anything now. I just want you to know the truth."
There's a vulnerability in admitting this, in acknowledging that the power she holds over me is unlike anything I've ever experienced. And yet, as I stand here, stripped of the armor I've always worn, there's an odd sense of freedom in the honesty of the moment.
Now, it's up to her to decide whether to step off the ledge with me or turn back to solid ground. But either way, I've finally spoken the truth, and that alone feels like a victory.