The Chess Master's Final Deadly Move

dra

ith a scholarship, a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. I embraced the foreign language, the new friends, the demanding curriculum, anything to silence the echo of Alde

sketching in a quiet café near the Seine. The city lights twinkled on the water, mirrori

aged wine and carrying a distinct Amer

eart leaped into my throat, a familiar icy grip

pair of hazel eyes I had ever seen. He was tall, impeccably dressed, with a warm s

everything Alden wasn't. Patient, gentle, honest. He didn' t play games. He simply... cared. We'd had a f

my voice a little sha

My apologies. I saw you deep in thought.

he chair, his movements fluid and unhurried. "You seem a millio

t. A new project." I gestured vaguely at

ly interested. "Tell me about it. Y

word, every hesitation. He didn't push. He didn't pry. He simply offered his presence, his genuine interest. It was a stark contrast to Alden's

g. His affection was a quiet, constant stream, slowly eroding the walls I had built around my heart. He would bring me warm croissants and coffee to my studio on cold mornings, simp

expectation. He offered a love that felt like a quiet sunrise after a lon

g in love again. A different kind

estry underfoot, Kolton stopped. He turned to me, his hazel eyes serious, yet full of warmth. "Alondra," he bega

gainst my ribs. I k

firm and reassuring, "that I'm here. I'm all in. I see you, Alondra. All of you

verwhelming gratitude and a burgeoning joy. It had been so long since anyone

I whispered, the words feelin

e leaned in, his lips soft and warm against mine. It wasn't the fiery, consuming passion I'

thm of simply being together. There was no urgency, no hidden cameras, no performance. Just two people,

through the curtains. I felt a lightness I hadn't known was possible. This

murmured, his voice husky with

t him, my heart

ough the apartment. It was heavy, rhythmic, almost violent. My eyes flew open. My

eyes. "Who on earth?" he m

ran cold. A wave of dread washed over me, chilling me to

ble. A name, a face, flashed through my mind, a p

an unnerving familiarity, cut through the silence

orld spun. No. It couldn

eyes. He saw the terror on my face, the

tside, however, left no room for doubt. It was the voice that

And I'm not leaving

hest. He had found me. After all this time, all this distance, he had found me

n? Who is Alden?" he asked, his voice firm, protective. He di

ut, grabbing his ar

t crash, tearing from its hinges. And there he stood, framed against the Parisian morning

ed tightly, was a singl

remembered. And he was here. My past had finally caught up, tearing through the fragile tapestry of my p