Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The night Kryztal left the Santillan estate, the world felt like it was made of glass shards. Every step down that winding driveway was a puncture wound to her soul. By the time she reached her dorm, the forest-green dress was damp with sweat and tears. She didn't turn on the lights. She sat on her thin mattress, took the SIM card out of her phone, and snapped it with a clinical finality.
The next morning, she was at the Registrar's office before the doors even opened. With a shaking hand, she filed for a Change of Matriculation. She dropped every elective he taught, swapped her sections, and moved her entire life into the shadows of the morning shift. She became a ghost in the College of Architecture. She memorized his schedule not to find him, but to ensure she was never in the same hallway. The silver compass necklace was buried in the bottom of a trunk, wrapped in the red lace that smelled of him.
The years that followed were a blur of graphite dust, late-night plates, and a silence that hummed like a live wire. Kryztal Sydrin stopped being the girl who gasped at big houses and started being the woman who knew how to build them.
Three Years Later – The University Amphitheater
The sun beat down on the Sunken Garden, the sunflowers standing tall and bright. Kryztal stood among the sea of graduating students, her Sablay draped over her shoulder. She was graduating Magna Cum Laude.
As she walked across the stage to receive her diploma, her heart stuttered. There, seated among the University officials, was Alexander. He looked the same, yet older—his face more angular, his eyes like hardened amber. He didn't smile. He didn't clap. He simply watched her. He watched the "distraction" he had lost walk across the stage as a peer.
Kryztal didn't linger. She took her diploma and vanished into the crowd. She had finished her masterpiece.
The Night of the Board Exam Results
The bar was dim, smelling of hops and expensive gin. Kryztal sat at the counter, her license number flashing on her phone screen. She had passed. She was officially a licensed Architect. But the success felt hollow. The one person she wanted to show her license to was the one person she had spent years running from.
She ordered another shot of tequila, her vision blurring. The weight of the secret, the years of holding her breath, finally collapsed.
"I fucking miss him," she whispered into her glass, her voice breaking. "I want him back."
The world tilted. Her chair felt like it was spinning, and as her knees gave out, she felt the floor rushing up to meet her. But the impact never came. A pair of strong, familiar arms caught her mid-fall. A scent—sandalwood, cold marble, and leather—enveloped her senses.
"I've got you," a deep, gravelly voice whispered.
Kryztal woke up to the sound of rain against a window and the feeling of high-thread-count silk against her skin. She blinked, her head throbbing. This wasn't her apartment. The ceiling was too high, the air too cool.
Then, she smelled it. The scent.
"Wait... this scent... A-Alexander!?"
The bathroom door swung open. Alexander stepped out, a towel slung low around his waist, his hair damp and messy. He looked devastatingly handsome, his chest still corded with the same lean muscle she remembered. He looked at her with a calm, steady gaze—the gaze of a man who had waited.
Kryztal didn't think. She threw the sheets aside and ran to him, her bare feet hitting the cold floor as she crashed into his chest. She sobbed into his skin, her hands clutching his back as if she were trying to fuse herself to him.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she cried, the words pouring out. She explained everything—his mother's threat, the family photo, her fear of being the reason his empire crumbled.
Alexander held her, his chin resting on top of her head. He didn't interrupt. He had made his own moves during those years. He had stood his ground against Alysiana, making a deal that secured his position without the need for Isabella. He had shown his mother that he was just as stubborn as his father, Diervo, who had fought his own battles and won. Alexander had known Kryztal would come back when she was ready. He had built his life to be a fortress she could return to as an equal.
"I know, Kryztal," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I knew why you left. I just needed you to find your own strength first."
He pulled back, his amber eyes searching hers before he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss that tasted of years of longing. Kryztal felt her resolve melt. She reached for the tie of her robe, letting it fall to the floor.
"I miss you so fucking bad, Professor," she gasped, the old title slipping out as his hand found her breast, devouring the soft flesh just as he used to. "No one ever touched me when I left. Only you. It's always been only you."
Alexander's eyes flared with a dark, triumphant fire. A small, possessive smile played on his lips. "I know. So do I. No one else has set foot in this bed. Only you get to taste me."
He didn't waste another second. He lifted her, pinning her against the wall of the shower as he entered her with a brutal, familiar force. Kryztal screamed his name, her legs wrapping around his waist as the years of silence were replaced by the rhythmic, wet sounds of their reunion.
He wasn't the Ice King anymore, and she wasn't the distraction. There were two architects, finally building something that wouldn't fall.
"Say it," he growled, his thrusts hitting her deepest center. "Kanino ka lang?"
"Sa'yo!" she cried out, her head tossing back. "Always yours, Alexander!"
In the end, it's him and I.