You and Alex had a very heated argument months ago.

Apparently, he had confessed that he’d been dating you for business reasons, and that becoming best friends with your sibling had been part of the same plan.

It was all a lie. Or maybe not entirely.

You had moved to London several months ago to complete your university scholarship, hoping the distance would be enough to let the memory of him fade. You didn’t expect, though, that Alex Volkov—proud, infuriating, impossible Alex Volkov—would humble himself so completely just to earn your forgiveness.

Every week, there was a small gift left at your doorstep—a book you’d mentioned in passing, a coffee from your favorite café, even a scarf for when the London winter became unbearable. Every night, he appeared at the end of your walk home, keeping a careful distance, watching as though he feared something might happen to you if he wasn’t there.

You knew his strategy was working. You felt it, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You were tempted—so tempted—to let him back into your life.

No. You wouldn’t.

“You need to stop now,” you said one evening, your voice sharp despite the cold air between you.

Alex tilted his head, raising one eyebrow. “Stop?”

“Yes.” You met his gaze, refusing to blink. “The gifts. The waiting. The games. They’re not going to work.”

His easy smile faltered, replaced by something more serious, almost vulnerable. “I already told you, I’m not playing. If you want me to stop with the gifts, I will. But I won’t stop waiting for you.”

You scoffed lightly. “Why? You could have any person you wanted. Any. Why me?”

His eyes softened. “Because none of them are you.”

You took a step back, suddenly aware of how close he had gotten without your permission. “That’s easy to say. But words don’t undo months of lies, Alex. You lied to me. You lied to my family. To me.”

“I know,” he admitted quietly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix it if I have to. I was stupid, and selfish, and I—I hate that I hurt you. I’ve hated it every single day since.”

You swallowed hard, the tension in your chest making it hard to speak. “So what now? You think a scarf and a coffee can erase everything?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not erase. I just… I want a chance to be honest with you now. Without schemes. Without games. Just me, standing here, hoping you’ll see that I—”

“Stop.” You held up a hand, feeling the familiar swell of frustration and longing twist inside you. “Don’t say it. Not yet.”

Alex’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll wait. Because even if it takes forever, I’ll wait for you.”