The Only Exception

10. Ugliest Emotion

He didn't step back, not physically. But something in him recoiled.

Asi saw it. Felt it.

"No," she said quickly, stepping forward. "Alaz—please, I didn't mean it like that—"

"You said it was a mistake," he said quietly. "That's... kind of hard to misinterpret."

"I meant—" She stopped herself, exhaled, tried again. "I meant that we can't afford to do this. Not like this. Not now."

He stared at her.

"This—us—it works," she continued, hands gesturing between them. "We work. You and me, we've built something that functions. It's safe. It's good. The babies are coming. We live together. We respect each other. That kiss... it changes things. And I— I'm scared that if we go there, we'll ruin it."

"You think we'd ruin it," he said, voice flat.

"I think it's possible," Asi said. "And that's enough. We argue. We're stubborn. We push each other's buttons constantly. What happens if we try to be something else and we fail? What happens to the kids then? To the home we've made? To the company? To us?"

He was quiet.

Painfully quiet.

Asi swallowed. "I'm trying to protect this. All of this. And I just... I can't afford to make this about me or what I want."

He looked at her finally, really looked. His eyes were soft, but tired. Wounded. Like he was doing everything he could not to let her see how much that word — mistake — had shattered him.

"I didn't think it was a mistake," he said quietly.

"I know."

"I thought it was... overdue."

She closed her eyes for a second, her heart cracking open.

"I know," she whispered again. "It felt like that. But we're not teenagers anymore, Alaz. It's not just a kiss. It's everything after."

His jaw clenched.

"And I can't risk losing what we already have for something that might not work."

He looked down.

His hand flexed once at his side. Then released.

"I get it," he said, voice calm. Measured. Too measured. "That makes sense."

Asi's throat tightened. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He nodded, but didn't look at her. "You didn't."

She took a step forward. "Alaz—"

"It's fine," he said. Still calm. Still polite. His voice now a coat of ice over something burning inside. "You're right. It's complicated. We shouldn't let a kiss—"

He stopped himself.

Rephrased.

"We shouldn't let that change things."

"Alaz—"

"Nothing's changed," he said. He smiled — or tried to. It didn't reach his eyes. "We're still us. I'll see you in the morning."

And before she could say anything else, he turned and walked toward the bedroom.

She stood in the hallway, her back still against the wall, heart in her throat.

When his door clicked shut, it sounded like the end of something.

She closed her eyes.

Wrapped her arms around herself.