Love Unspoken

Getty sat, frozen in her seat, her gaze locked onto him, her expression a complex tapestry of emotions. "Getty, I can't marry you," he declared.

Those words, so familiar yet so cutting, felt like a blade piercing Getty's heart each time they were spoken. She bit her lip, her eyes welling up with unshed tears, her resolve to keep them at bay wavering. Alexander added, "Take good care of yourself."

Getty remained silent. The irony of his words was almost laughable. How could he, of all people, tell her to look after herself? It sounded like nothing more than a flimsy excuse! "Alexander, do you love me?" she finally managed to ask.

"What is love?" he retorted.

"It's for you to tell me. You're always so good to me, you meet my every request, even driving this long distance just to indulge my whims. Doesn't that mean it's love?" Getty pressed him, her eyes desperately searching his face for any hint of emotion.

Regrettably, the car was too dimly lit; the fleeting light from outside only grazed his profile, revealing nothing but his characteristic aloofness.

It was a coldness that was paradoxical; he might be smiling at you, but you could still feel the chill. Only those closest to him could perceive this suffocating and inescapable distance.

Alexander didn't answer; he just focused on the road ahead, his gaze unwavering.

"You always go silent when I ask you this," Getty sniffed, her makeup beginning to smear with her tears.

sleeve

it petulantly, she roughly dabbed at her

was pointless, and it only brought her misery. Everyone says you can truly feel whether you love someone or not, but with Alexander,

Alexander was head over heels in love with her, but at other times, it felt like she didn't even exist in his heart. For years, these conflicting feelings haunted her. To love or not to love, only his admission would matter. Soon, Alexander pulled up to the hotel. Turning to her,

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remained seated, her head bowed, her

"Getty," Alexander called her.

looked up; her eyes, ringed in black from crying, were a mess, and somewhat frightening.

almost choked on her saliva, glaring at

Alexander dodged the question,

of your business! I'm getting married tomorrow," Getty retorted

said simply,

next

"Does it matter?"