[POV Sloane]
Living with Ari Wayne felt like trying to tame lightning with your bare hands.
She moved through the penthouse with this controlled elegance—poised, always in motion, like a woman who didn’t know how to sit still unless it was to prove a point. And her presence? Impossible to ignore.
She wasn’t loud, not exactly. She just took up space. Even her silences pressed in around you. I’d been living in 3,800 square feet of uninterrupted silence until she moved in. And somehow, she made it feel smaller.
The first morning, I woke to the scent of strong coffee and the click click click of a keyboard echoing through the kitchen.
It was barely five a.m.
I stepped into the room shirtless, still wiping sweat from my morning run, only to find her curled into one of the bar stools—knees tucked up, earbuds in, hair in a messy bun, fingers flying over the keys.
Ari Winters in her natural habitat: caffeinated, sleep-deprived, laser-focused.
She didn’t look up. Not until I grabbed the last of the protein bars from the cabinet.
“You ate the last one,” she said flatly.
“I bought them.”
“I don’t recall seeing your name on the wrapper.”
I turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You want to start our morning with territorial snack disputes?”
She popped a pistachio into her mouth like a queen doling out judgment. “You already lost.”
That set the tone for the week. Passive-aggressive fridge wars. Competing alarms. Overlapping bathroom schedules.
But the real tension didn’t flare until work. We might’ve been wearing rings, but inside Wayne Publishing, we were still oil and water.
Especially when she disagreed with me in front of senior leadership. Again.
I’d laid out a clean acquisition strategy—trim the fat, gut the redundant departments, refocus the budget into profitable channels. It made sense on paper. It always made sense on paper.
And then she had to speak.
“We’re not bleeding money, Sloane,” she said in that maddeningly calm voice of hers, flipping open a folder she’d prepped without my knowledge. “We’re planting seeds. You just don’t like waiting for them to grow.”
The room went quiet. I glanced around at the board. Half of them wouldn’t look at me.
I leaned forward, lacing my fingers together.
“You’ve made your point, Mrs. Wayne. But decisions don’t get made based on sentiment.”
“And companies don’t survive when they kill their future just to save a buck in Q4.”
We locked eyes across the polished mahogany table. I could feel the heat of her defiance. I could taste it.
Later, when the meeting ended, I caught up to her outside the elevator.
“You made me look weak.”
She hit the call button. “No. I made you look human. You’re welcome.”
“You’ve been on my case every damn day since we signed that contract.”
She stepped inside the elevator and turned to face me, her expression unreadable. “Then maybe you should stop giving me so many reasons.”
The doors slid shut before I could fire back.
The business retreat came at the end of the week like a punishment wrapped in velvet.
Ari looked stunning as always when we arrived—cream blouse, high-waisted trousers, her hair twisted up with pins that I hated for no logical reason.
She paused in the doorway of our shared suite, arms crossed. “One bed?”
“I requested two,” I muttered.
She looked at me like she didn’t believe a single word. Then she turned away, heels clicking against the floor, voice low and sharp.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m a light sleeper and I own a letter opener.”
I bit back a smirk. “Good to know your threats are on-brand.”
The retreat itself was standard corporate fluff. Icebreakers. Keynotes. Champagne pretending to be business talk. But the real highlight was the trust exercise.
Pairs. Blindfolded. Navigate a rope course. They loved the idea of the married couple doing it.
I hated it immediately.
“Relax,” Ari whispered, standing behind me with the blindfold in hand. “I’m not going to let you fall.”
I didn’t answer. The blindfold went on. Darkness. Her voice came next, soft and close to my ear. “Step forward. Slowly.”
Her hand brushed my arm. I didn’t need it, but I didn’t pull away.
She guided me through every turn, every dip, her tone steady, almost… gentle. It was the first time I heard her speak without armor. It made the air feel heavier.
When I reached the end and pulled off the blindfold, she was already looking at me. Eyes dark. Mouth set.
I handed her the rope. “Don’t get used to that.”
Her lips curved slightly. “You either.”
* * *
That night, I didn’t sleep.
The lodge was too quiet. The bed was too soft. And my chest felt like it was splitting open.
I saw the car in my dreams. I smelled gasoline and flowers. I heard my mother’s laugh just before it became a scream.
I sat bolt upright on the couch, gasping. My skin was cold, hands trembled. I've had this nightmare a hundred times. But this time… the door creaked open.
Ari stood there, eyes wide, robe tied loosely at her waist. “Sloane?”
I didn’t answer. She came closer, barefoot, kneeling beside the couch. Not touching me. Not yet.
“Was it... a nightmare?” I nodded, breathing through clenched teeth.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t try to offer words. She just stayed there. After a long silence, she reached out—slowly, carefully—and placed her hand over mine.
It wasn't a pity. It was a presence. And it undid me in a way I couldn’t explain.
“They were going to pick out her wedding dress that day,” I said. My voice was low. Hoarse. “Mother and Zoe. I was supposed to go too, but I said I couldn't make it.”
Ari didn’t let go of my hand.
“I told them I had a call. Something stupid. I didn’t want to deal with the lace and the tulle and the parade of photographers.”
I looked at her. “If I’d gone... I would’ve been in the car too.”
She exhaled slowly, and I realized her eyes were shining. She blinked once, hard. “They wouldn’t want you to carry that.”
I wanted to believe her. But guilt doesn’t care about logic.
I looked away, swallowing hard.
After a long pause, she stood and whispered, “You’re not the only one who lost people you couldn’t save.”
Then she walked back to the bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack and I just lay there… thinking about the feel of her fingers on mine and the truth in her voice.