One Night Stand With Alexander Blackwood-Chapter 11 — Eleven

Serena’s POV

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind me, I finally exhaled. My hands were still trembling. Maybe from fear or maybe from everything else. I couldn’t pinpoint what that feeling was.

His shirt lay on the counter where I had placed it. It was black and soft. It looked too big for me. Definitely something that didn’t belong on my body.

Yet I slipped it on.

I shouldn’t have... but I did.

The fabric hung loosely on my shoulders, ending halfway down my thighs. It swallowed me whole, smelling faintly like cedar, clean soap, and... him.

I caught my reflection and felt heat creep up my neck. I looked like I belonged nowhere near a man like Alexander Blackwood, let alone inside his house, wearing his clothes.

I dried my hair the best I could, trying not to think about the fact that my one-night-stand-turned-boss was somewhere in the kitchen cooking..

A billionaire CEO, cooking for a mere girl.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or panic.

Taking a steadying breath, I walked out of the bedroom and walked down the hall towards the soft glow coming from the kitchen. My bare feet were almost silent against the polished wooden floor.

Then my eyes landed on him.

Alexander stood by the counter with his sleeves rolled up, forearms tense and defined as he chopped vegetables with precise, almost effortless control.

The kitchen lights traced sharp lines along his jaw, and a faint frown tugged at his brows like he was concentrating too hard on something simple.

He looked... human. Not the intimidating man who stormed into my apartment like a wrathful god.

Just a man making dinner.

For me.

He must have heard my footsteps because he glanced up—then utterly froze.

His eyes swept over me once. It was quick but unmistakably intense, before flicking back to my face. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

The air thickened around us.

His voice, when he spoke, was lower than usual. It was rough and hoarse.

"Does it fit?"

I swallowed. "It’s... big."

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "It looks better on you."

My heart raced. I looked away, pretending to study the marble countertop instead of the way his gaze pinned me like a spotlight.

He set the knife down, washed his hands, and reached for a pan on the stove.

"You okay?" he asked without looking at me this time.

His voice was surprisingly gentle and careful this time.

"Yeah," I whispered. "Just... processing."

He nodded once. "That’s normal."

Silence settled between us. It was not awkward, but heavy. Like neither of us wanted to acknowledge what almost happened to me or the fact that we were alone in his home, separated by nothing but a kitchen island.

I cleared my throat. "You know you didn’t have to cook. I could’ve—"

"I wanted to." His answer came immediately, firm but calm. "And after tonight... I don’t want you lifting a finger."

My stomach fluttered at his tone—protective without suffocating. A tone that made me feel... safe. I shouldn’t feel that way.

He glanced at me again, letting his gaze linger for a heartbeat too long.

"You can sit," he said softly. "If you want."

I slid onto one of the stools by the island, pulling his shirt lower instinctively. His eyes flickered at the movement before he quickly looked back at the stove.

The smell of sautéing garlic filled the kitchen.

For a moment, I simply watched him work. His presence filled the room so easily it was almost overwhelming.

But something inside me loosened. Maybe because he wasn’t asking questions. Maybe because he wasn’t crowding me. Maybe because... he cared more than he should.

"Alexander?" I said quietly.

He paused, spatula in hand. "Yes?"

"Why... why are you doing all this?"

He stilled. Then he slowly turned toward me, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

His dark and unreadable gaze met mine without wavering.

"Because someone hurt you," he said softly. "Because you were scared. Because you called me."

He let out a slow breath.

"And because I couldn’t stand the thought of arriving too late."

My breath hitched.

We didn’t know each other. Not really. We were strangers who had crossed a line neither of us expected. And yet... the truth in his expression made something warm unfurl inside me.

I lowered my gaze to my hands. "I... didn’t know who else to call."

"I’m glad you called me," he said.

My heartbeat quickened again. This time, too fast and too unpredictable.

Alexander turned back toward the stove, but his voice drifted to me.

"You’re safe here, Serena. For tonight... and as long as you need. Personally, I don’t mind you staying forever."