At twenty-nine, Rebecca Winters often caught herself daydreaming about a life she didn't yet have. She could picture it so vividly, the rustle of satin as she walked down an aisle, the sparkle of a white gown, the proud smiles of family and friends as she promised forever to someone who cherished her. She could almost smell the roses in a bridal bouquet, feel the weight of a wedding band sliding onto her finger.
It wasn't just the wedding she wanted, though it was the fairytale. A partnership where she could finally exhale, lean into someone's arms, and know she didn't have to carry the world on her own. For all her accomplishments, there was a persistent ache inside her, the sense that love, real love, kept slipping just out of reach.
Her coworkers saw her as a success story. A sharp, independent woman who had risen steadily in her career, commanding respect in the office with her meticulous work ethic and clear voice during meetings. She looked the part of success too, today she wore a tailored emerald-green jumpsuit that hugged her figure in all the right places. The cinched waist highlighted her curves, and the wide-leg cut flowed with every movement, balancing power with elegance. A thin gold chain rested at her collarbone, subtle yet striking, and her heels clicked with authority when she walked. Her hair framed her face in bouncy curls, glossy and untamed in a way that made her look both polished and effortlessly radiant. Rebecca loved fashion not just for the look, but for the armor it gave her. She could walk into any room dressed like this and feel untouchable.
But beneath the surface armor, she longed for something softer. For touch. For connection. She wanted the fairytale, the white gown but each year seemed to put more distance between her reality and that dream.
And she knew why.
She remembered Dan.
"You don't even need me here, Rebecca," he had once said, pacing her apartment. His words had been sharp, wounded.
"That's not true," she had countered, arms folded. "I want you here. Why would you say that?"
Dan's frustration poured out. "Because I feel like I'm with a man. You always take charge, you always know the answers, you don't leave room for me to… I don't know… be a man."
Her jaw clenched. "So you want me to play dumb? Pretend I can't handle my life so you feel better?"
"I just don't want to feel useless," he muttered, eyes downcast. "You don't need me. You don't need anyone."
She had turned away from him that night, but his words never left her.
Then Lucius.
Lucius had been thoughtful, intellectual. A man who admired everything about her or so she thought.
"You're remarkable, Rebecca," he'd told her one rainy evening, their hands linked under an umbrella. "Independent. Unstoppable. You don't lean on anyone. It's inspiring."
At first, she'd glowed. But later, as they curled together on her couch, she'd tested him. "Don't you ever wish I needed you more?"
Lucius only smiled. "That's what I love most about you. You don't need rescuing."
But she did want rescuing sometimes. Not in the dramatic sense, but in the quiet, everyday way of knowing she could collapse into someone's arms and not always have to be strong. Lucius never understood that.
And Duncan.
Ah, Duncan had been nearly perfect. Sharp, ambitious, a rising star in his own right. They had matched each other stride for stride at first, it felt electric.
She remembered the way his hand fit perfectly around hers at dinners, how his laughter filled her apartment on lazy Sunday mornings. He had the looks, the career drive, the confidence. For a time, she'd believed he might be the one.
But slowly, his confidence sharpened into rivalry.
"Why do you always have to win?" she'd asked once, after a heated game of tennis where he'd pushed too hard.
"Because I can't stand losing," Duncan replied with a grin, sweat glistening on his brow. "Not to anyone. Not even you."
She had laughed in the moment, but later, it gnawed at her. Everything became a contest, who got the bigger promotion, who closed the tougher deal, who woke up earlier to run more miles. Being with him felt less like partnership and more like combat.
She had wanted someone to share life with, not someone to constantly outdo.
A voice broke through her drifting thoughts.
"Becca!"
Rebecca blinked, jolted back to the present. She realized she had been staring across the office, her mind lost in the tangle of past loves and unfulfilled dreams.
Her gaze focused and locked.
Kevin Lockwood.
Her new boss stood at the entrance to her department, a figure of easy authority. The navy blazer cut a clean line across his shoulders, broad and steady. The white shirt beneath was crisp, his sleeves rolled just slightly as if to show he wasn't afraid to work.
Rebecca's eyes lingered longer than she should have. She admired the way he carried himself, how his presence seemed to command the space without effort. Her thoughts flickered, unwelcomed, but undeniable. She wondered, fleetingly, what it might feel like to wrap her legs around those strong shoulders, to lose the weight of her composure in the strength of someone else.
Her pulse jumped, heat rushing to her cheeks. Control yourself, Rebecca.
For all her boss-lady armor, for all her independence, she still craved a man's touch. She still wanted the warmth of closeness, the grounding of desire. But she was disciplined. These were fleeting thoughts, nothing more, and she pulled herself back with practiced self-control.
Straightening in her chair, she smoothed the fabric of her jumpsuit. "It's Rebecca, to you, Mr. Lockwood," she said, her tone steady but tinged with playful defiance.
Kevin chuckled, the sound low, warm. He extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Rebecca. I've heard a lot about you."
She slipped her hand into his, his grip firm and assured. A spark danced up her arm, unexpected and unsettling.
For the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of something she had almost forgotten, hope.
Maybe, just maybe, the fairytale wasn't as far away as she thought.