Page 169 of This Life of Mine

“Let’s test the theory.”

“Lina...” he begs.

I step closer.

“Let me be the judge of whether I’m actually afraid.”

For a considerable moment, he stares at me. Then he exhales in defeat. “Alright,” he says, his eyes meeting mine.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

“Just know,” he says quietly, “I would never hurt you. Ever.”

My chest tightens. “I know.”

I take another step toward him. “That’s why I’m not afraid now.”

His expression softens.

“I just want you to know that too.” I reassure him.

He says nothing.

“I want you to see that when it comes to me...” I reach for his hand. “You can still be Alex, even under a mask.”

It’s been about ten minutes since Alex disappeared into the other room with his gear.

I’m lying on the bed with my knees bent, staring at the ceiling, trying—and failing—to convince myself that what I asked for was a perfectly reasonable request. Because it wasn’t. Not even close.

Is this really a good idea? Am I completely fucked in the head for willingly engaging with my stalker?

Although...is it technically stalking if he was watching me to keep me alive?

See? That’s the problem. The fact that I can even make that argument should concern me. Trying to justify this entire situation feels like a mental gymnastics event.

And all I keep thinking about is what I should tell Val. What will my best friend think of all of this?

Oh, by the way, remember Alex? Turns out he was secretly watching me for weeks before we met. Then we had sex. Then he informed me that I’m actually part of an ongoing job. Also, he’s a vigilante who prowls around the city at night wearing body armor and a mask.

Totally normal relationship stuff.

I groan, covering my face with my palms. I’m a complete nut case.

Before I can spiral any further, the bedroom door swings open.

My hands drop and I sit up on my elbows. Every coherent thought abandons me.

I’m gawking at this man. I’ve always known how big he is, how broad his shoulders are, how easily he makes everyone around him feel smaller. But this version of him is far larger—more imposing. Like he takes up the entire doorway.

For a beat, neither of us utter a sound.

He stands there with his arms crossed, dressed entirely in black. The matte mask conceals every feature I know by heart. The hood casts shadows across his shoulders. Small dark lenses stare back at me, revealing nothing.

A shiver races down my spine.

God. I wasn’t expecting this.

I rise from the bed and stand. I then take a step towards him.