[POV Sloane]
A few days later…
I knew something was wrong the second I walked into the penthouse.
The lights were dim, a single lamp casting long shadows across the living room. Rain tapped against the glass in slow, persistent rhythm. Ari sat on the edge of the couch, still in her work blouse, heels off, wine glass untouched beside her. Her shoulders were too still. Her eyes too quiet.
She didn’t look up when I entered.
“Ari,” I said carefully, loosening my tie. “Long day?”
Silence.
I dropped my keys in the crystal bowl by the door, unbuttoned my cuffs. Waited.
Then she looked at me—and it was like being hit with a wall of ice.
“There’s something you should see,” she said, her voice crisp, not cold. Crisp was worse. Cold meant emotion. Crisp meant control.
She slid her phone across the coffee table.
Front page of Metro Lush:
“REUNITED? Billionaire Sloane Wayne Spotted with Ex-Fiancée’s Best Friend. Sources Say Late-Night Meeting ‘Far From Innocent.’”
The photo wasn’t grainy. Of course it wasn’t. My hand brushing the small of her back as she leaned in to say something. My face, unreadable. Her expression—well lit, perfectly framed. Intimate, if you didn’t know the context.
I stared at it, then at her. “You believe this?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re sitting here, waiting for me with this article pulled up like it means something.”
She said nothing.
“I told you,” I continued, dropping into the chair across from her, “I had a meeting yesterday afternoon. I didn’t say who with, because it didn’t matter. It was closure.”
Her brow lifted. “Closure?”
“She showed up. Unannounced. Wanted to talk. I gave her ten minutes.”
“And that’s all?”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Ari.”
She looked away, lips tight.
And something in me snapped.
“Why does it matter?” I asked, my voice sharper than intended. “This is just a business arrangement, remember?”
Her eyes shot to mine, and for the first time all night, I saw emotion crack through the calm. “Right. Of course. Strictly business.”
“Ari—”
“No,” she said, standing abruptly, arms crossed like a shield. “You don’t get to act surprised. You made it clear. Boundaries. Distance. Formality.” She threw the words like knives. “So forgive me if I find it a little confusing that you’re suddenly defending meetings with other women like it matters what I think.”
I rose slowly, voice low. “It matters because I didn’t want you to think I—”
“What? That you were cheating?” She laughed, but it was hollow. “We’re not even real. You can’t cheat on something that doesn’t exist.”
I stepped closer. “You think this doesn’t exist?”
“You tell me!” Her voice cracked. “You want me to play wife at events, to smile for the press, to dance like we belong together, and then you vanish into meetings with women who used to love you. So what am I supposed to think?”
“That I’m trying,” I said. “That I’m doing everything I can not to screw this up.”
“You don’t even talk to me anymore.”
“Because I’m scared I won’t be able to stop.”
That stopped her.
She blinked once. Twice.
“What?”
I exhaled, hard. “I haven’t touched anyone since the day we signed that contract. Not once. Because this—” I gestured between us, breath unsteady. “—started as fake, but it hasn’t felt fake in a long time.”
She shook her head. “Don’t—don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want this to be something I want.” Her voice was trembling now. “Because I already feel like a fool for caring. For being jealous.”
I stepped closer. “You’re jealous?”
“I shouldn’t be,” she whispered.
“But you are.”
She didn’t answer.
“Why?”
Her eyes darted away, and I took another step, closing the gap between us.
“Why, Ari?” I asked again, softer this time. “Tell me.”
“I told myself I could do this,” she said, voice shaking. “That it was just for the company. For the legacy. That I could handle pretending. But then you started reading to me when I was sick. You started remembering how I take my coffee. You stopped correcting me in meetings even when I interrupted you. And I started looking forward to the sound of your keys in the door.”
My chest tightened.
“I started forgetting it was fake,” she whispered. “And then that picture—God, it made me feel like a fool.”
“You’re not a fool.”
“You make me feel like one.”
I stepped closer again, until there was barely space between us.
“I didn’t meet her to rekindle anything,” I said. “I met her because I needed to move on. Because I couldn’t keep pretending I was still that person. The man who could love someone who’s already gone when all I’ve been doing is trying not to want you.”
She froze.
“She’s Zoe’s best friend. I haven’t touched her,” I said. “I haven’t even thought about touching anyone else. Because every time I walk into this apartment and see you in my sweater or curled up with your notes or brushing your damn hair back like you don’t know I’m watching, I feel like I’m suffocating.”
Her lips parted.
“I want you,” I said. “I’m terrified of how much.”
Her hands trembled at her sides.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” I said. “Not after everything. Not with how we started. But you have to stop looking at me like I broke something you weren’t even sure existed.”
Her voice was a whisper now. “Then stop acting like you don’t feel it too.”
And suddenly we were too close.
Breathing the same air. Staring. Daring.
My hand hovered just inches from her face, but I didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
“Say it,” I said. “Tell me this hasn’t been fake for you either.”
Her throat bobbed. Her eyes glittered.
“I hate how much I want this,” she whispered.
And that was all it took.
I reached for her—but still didn’t kiss her. Just cupped her jaw, held her like she was glass and I was already breaking.
“I won’t be your mistake,” she said, voice shaking.
“Yeah, you won’t,” I swore. “You’re the only thing that feels like a reason to stay.”