One afternoon, Michelle Davis called, asking her out for dinner.
Alaina, feeling claustrophobic in the house, happily agreed.
Over dinner, Michelle listened enraptured to the stories of their time in Switzerland. "I just knew it!" she gushed enviously. "Lead Rossi, you and Mr. Summers are a match made in heaven. I have a sixth sense for these things—I can spot the fireworks between a man and a woman a mile away. You have to promise me you'll stay this happy forever."
Alaina laughed at her theatrics. After wrapping up their meal, the two women decided to take a stroll down the street.
Walking side by side along the pavement, they chatted about trivial matters.
A sleek black sedan cruised past them, causing Alaina to suddenly stop in her tracks.
It was Silas's car. She knew it anywhere.
A surge of pleasant surprise rushed through her, and she immediately pulled out her phone to dial his number.
It rang twice before it was abruptly declined.
Alaina froze, her fingers tightening around the device as a wave of unease crept in.
She looked up at the direction the car was heading—it was the route straight to his private training gym.
After a moment's hesitation, she told Michelle that something had come up. Turning back to the parking lot, she grabbed her own car and drove toward the gym.
The staff at the facility recognized her immediately and greeted her warmly.
She waved them off, asking them not to fuss, and walked right in.
Standing in a secluded corner away from the main mats, she watched the familiar figure in the center of the room.
Silas, dressed in black workout gear with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, was entirely engrossed in a sparring session.
Every punch he threw was loaded with explosive power. His eyes were cold and sharply focused, as if everything else in the world had ceased to exist.
Waiting until he took a break, she pulled out her phone and texted him: 'Where are you working today? Can you come home early tonight?'



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