The Only Exception

5. Shared Walls

Alaz kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the volume of the music — jazz again, of course. "Because my car is safer. And faster. And doesn't smell like that lavender-scented apocalypse you call an air freshener."

Asi gasped. "Excuse me. That 'apocalypse' happens to be artisan. I imported it from Greece."

"It smells like a candle store exploded in a florist's basement."

"You have no poetry in your soul."

"I have functioning airbags."

She huffed. "Maybe we could just take both our cars sometimes."

Alaz didn't respond immediately.

The silence lingered for a beat longer than it should have. Asi turned her head, catching the flicker of something on his face — not frustration, not sarcasm.

Sadness.

He shrugged lightly. "Miss Ethical will really take two separate cars going to the same place?" he asked, glancing sideways at her. "Isn't that bad for the environment?"

She opened her mouth to argue.

Closed it again.

Damn it. He was right.

She scowled, slumping deeper into the seat, crossing her arms like a sulking child. "That's not fair. You used my ethics against me."

Alaz smirked — wide, satisfied, annoyingly smug. "It's like arguing with solar panels," he said. "Eventually, the sun just wins."

"You're not the sun," she muttered.

"Tell that to your car. She misses you."

Asi let out a strangled laugh, trying not to smile. "I hate you."

He glanced at her, amused. "No, you don't."

She didn't answer.

She just rolled her eyes and let the music play.

But her smile lingered all the way to the office.

*

The office buzzed with late morning energy — soft chatter, typing, occasional bursts of laughter coming from the shared workspace. Alaz had retreated to the kitchen to refill his coffee, his mind deep in strategy notes when a laugh pierced through the quiet.

He knew that laugh.

Light. Warm. Stupidly contagious.

He turned slightly, mug in hand, and there she was.

Asi, leaning against the filing cabinet, talking to Tolga.

Laughing with Tolga.

Tolga, with his too-white teeth and charming smirk and that stupid loose tie that made him look like he was trying too hard to be casual. He was standing way too close, grinning like an idiot while Asi said something with her hand in the air, clearly making a point. She laughed again, tossing her head back just slightly. Tolga leaned in a bit more.

Alaz didn't even realize his fingers had tightened around the mug until it nearly slipped.

What the hell were they talking about?

Why was she smiling like that?

That laugh — she never laughed like that with him. Or at least not lately. Not like that. Not so open. Not so... easy.

Something sharp lodged in his chest. Not pain. Not exactly.

Possession.

His jaw clenched. He took a step forward without realizing it, then caught himself.