The morning after felt different.
I arrived at work with the memory of Xander's hands still burning on my skin. His breath against my neck. The way he kept saying my name like a prayer, like a confession, like something precious he'd been holding back for years.
Daphne. Daphne. Daphne.
I caught his eye across the office the moment I stepped off the elevator. He was standing near his door, coffee in hand, talking to someone from finance. But his gaze found mine instantly, as if he'd been waiting.
I looked away quickly, heat rising to my cheeks.
When I glanced back, he was still watching—careful, intense. Like he was waiting to see what I'd do next. Neither of us knew how to navigate this shift. Last night had changed everything, but we hadn't talked about what that meant.
Hadn't established rules or boundaries or expectations. We'd just... burned.
"Good morning, Daphne." Debra's voice made me jump. "You okay? You look flushed."
"Fine. Just rushed this morning." I managed a smile. "The girls didn't want to get dressed."
"Don't they always?" She laughed knowingly. "Coffee's fresh if you need it."
I buried myself in work, trying to focus on spreadsheets and schedules instead of the way Xander's hands had gripped my thighs, the sound he'd made when I pulled him closer. But concentration was impossible.
Throughout the morning, I felt eyes on me. And not just Xander's.
Every time I glanced toward the executive wing, Bianca seemed to be watching. Studying.
Those cold blue eyes tracked everything—the way Xander's gaze lingered on me a moment too long when he passed my desk, the way my cheeks flushed pink, the way I couldn't quite meet his eyes without remembering what we'd done on that conference table.
She knew. She had to know. Or at least suspect.
Around eleven, I walked past Xander's office on my way to deliver documents to legal. Through the glass wall, I saw Bianca inside, supposedly waiting for a meeting.
But she wasn't sitting in the guest chair like a normal person would.
She was standing near his desk. Bending down. Examining something on the floor.
I slowed my steps, watching as her manicured fingers closed around a small object—something that caught the light for just a moment before it disappeared into her palm. She straightened, and her eyes locked directly onto mine through the glass.
The look she gave me was pure venom. The dirtiest look I'd ever received in my life, promising consequences I couldn't even imagine.
Her gaze never left mine as she slipped whatever she'd found into her pocket. Then she smiled, cold, triumphant, and turned away.
My blood ran cold.
I didn't understand. Didn't know what she'd found or why it mattered. But the look in those ice-blue eyes told me everything I needed to know: whatever game Bianca was playing, she'd just found a winning piece.
I spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out what she could have discovered. What small object could possibly matter enough to make her look at me like that? My mind raced through possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.
"Hey." The voice came from behind me.
I turned to find Archie standing in the hallway, that familiar warm smile on his face. "Archie. Hi. I was just…"
Before I could finish, he took my hand and pulled me around a corner, into a quiet alcove away from prying eyes.
His hands cupped my face, and then he was kissing me—familiar, warm, hopeful. The kind of kiss that said he'd been thinking about me, missing me, wanting more of what we'd shared.
But my mind flooded with images of Xander.
The heat of him. The desperation in his voice when he'd said my name. The way his mouth had claimed mine like he was staking a claim, marking territory, making up for five years of lost time.
I pulled away gently, my hand pressing against Archie's chest.
"Daphne?" His eyes searched my face, confusion flickering there. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"
"No. No, you didn't do anything wrong." I took a breath, trying to find the right words. "Archie, you've been wonderful. Everything you've done for me, the way you've listened, the way you've been there..."
"Why does this sound like a 'but' is coming?"
"Because it is." I met his eyes, hating myself for the hurt I saw forming there. "I care about you. I really do. But I think... I think I need time. To figure things out."
"Figure what out?" His voice tightened. "What's changed? A week ago, we were…" He stopped himself, jaw clenching. "Is this about Xander?"
I couldn't lie to him. Not after everything.
"I don't know what it's about," I said quietly. "That's the problem. My head is a mess, Archie. My whole life is a mess. And it's not fair to you—to keep doing this when I'm not sure what I want."
"I know what I want." He took my hands, his grip gentle but desperate. "I want you, Daphne. You and the girls. I don't care about the complications or the history or the gap in our age. I just want a chance."
"And you deserve someone who can give you that chance without reservation." I squeezed his hands, then let go. "I'm not that person right now. Maybe I could be, someday. But right now... I need time."
His breathing became almost inaudible, his lips pressed tightly together. For a moment, I thought he might argue—might push, might demand answers I couldn't give.
But he didn't. He nodded slowly, stepping back. "Okay. Time. I can give you that."
"Archie..."
"No, it's fine." But the hope in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by something warier. Something that looked dangerously like the beginning of goodbye. "Take whatever time you need. I'll be here."
He paused, and his expression softened. The wariness faded into something gentler, more resigned but no less sincere.
"I mean it, Daphne. I'll wait." He stepped closer again, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "For you and the girls. As long as it takes."
His fingers lingered near my ear, and then he tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing.
"What?" I asked.
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Did the office fashionistas influence you this much? Are you trying to implement a new style?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're wearing one earring." He gestured toward my ear, amusement flickering through the sadness in his eyes. "Did the girls keep you from getting ready properly this morning?"
I instinctively reached up and pinched my earlobe. The left one—bare. My fingers moved to the right—the small silver stud I always wore was still there.
Where had I lost it?
And then the puzzle began to fall into place.
The conference room. Last night. Xander's hands in my hair, his fingers tangling through the strands as he kissed me, pulled me closer, lifted me onto the table...
Bianca bending down near Xander's desk this morning. Her manicured fingers closing around something small. Something that caught the light.
The look she'd given me through the glass. Triumphant. Knowing.
My earring. She'd found my earring on the floor of Xander's office.