Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across the bedroom. I stirred, blinking against the brightness, and my eyes immediately found him. Ryan was still asleep, lying on his back, one arm casually draped over the pillow. His hair was slightly tousled, jaw relaxed, sunlight highlighting the sharp lines of his face.
Even in sleep, he was breathtaking. My chest tightened, and a small, involuntary shiver ran down my spine. The quiet strength in his form, the calm expression—he looked untouchable, yet somehow safe. I couldn't tear my gaze away.
He shifted slightly, and his eyes fluttered open. When they met mine, soft and steady, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Morning," he said, voice low and husky.
"Morning," I whispered back, heart fluttering, cheeks warming.
He propped himself on one elbow, still watching me. "Sleep well?"
"I… I think so," I admitted. "It feels… different. Being here. Waking up here."
He gave a faint, teasing smile, then leaned closer. "You're safe. That's what matters."
My chest ached. The intimacy of the moment was both comforting and confusing. I wanted to linger in the warmth of his words, the calm steadiness of his presence, but reality tugged at me, insistent.
"I… I should get up," I said, though the words sounded weak even to me.
He shook his head. "Not yet. Stay a little longer. Just breathe."
I let myself curl a little closer. The sun warmed my skin, his steady presence grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.
Eventually, hunger nudged me, and we moved into the kitchen for breakfast. Ryan moved quietly, deliberately—making coffee, slicing bread, stirring eggs—and I watched him in silence. Every motion was precise, calm, and intimate in a way that made my heart beat faster than I expected.
"You always make coffee this strong?" I asked softly, trying to distract myself from how mesmerizing it was just to see him move.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Only for people who need waking up." His lips curved in a teasing smile.
I smirked, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "I guess that means I fall into that category."
He chuckled softly. "Apparently."
We ate at the small dining table, the quiet clink of cutlery filling the space between us. I hesitated before taking a bite, nervous about breaking the fragile bubble of calm. The toast was warm, comforting, and the coffee had a richness that filled the apartment with a domestic aroma that somehow made everything feel… real.
"You're quiet," he observed, leaning back in his chair slightly.
"I… I'm just… thinking," I admitted. "About everything that's happened. The last few days… it's like—" I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the whirlwind "I… I don't even know how to thank you."
"You don't need to," he murmured, voice soft. "Just focus on yourself."
We finished breakfast in near silence, the comfort between us punctuated only by small comments and soft laughter.
Finally, Ryan stretched and looked at me. "We should head to work now," he said casually.
I froze. "Work? Today? But… I was fired…"
His calm smile didn't waver. "Not anymore. I talked to a friend at HR. They checked everything, realized you were innocent. Your job is restored. You just need to go in today."
I blinked, stunned. "You… did that?"
"Of course," he said softly. "You don't need to worry. Just focus on yourself. Everything else is handled."
I swallowed, trying to process the reality. My hands fidgeted with the edge of the mug. Somehow, I believed him. Somehow, I trusted him completely.
The drive to the office was quiet but comfortable. Occasionally, our hands brushed as I adjusted in the passenger seat, sending little thrills through me. The world outside the windows moved quickly, cars and pedestrians oblivious to the strange, surreal comfort I was feeling inside the car.
"Are you… nervous?" he asked, glancing at me.
"A little," I admitted. "I don't… I don't know what to expect."
"You'll do fine," he said. "Just be yourself. Nothing else matters."
When Ryan dropped me off in the basement parking lot, he said softly, "Go in first. I have some business to attend to."
I nodded, trusting him, and stepped out. As I walked toward the elevators, I noticed him veer down a different hallway toward the executive elevators. I raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off. He probably had important things to do.
The elevator ride up was quiet, the hum of the machinery filling the small space. My mind replayed the events of the past few days—the night on the rooftop, the unexpected rescue, the strange comfort of his apartment. And now, going into the office with my job restored, the world felt… lighter, somehow.
As I stepped out of the elevator, the office seemed to freeze for a moment. Then the whispers started.
"Is that… Valerie?" one voice hissed near the coffee machine.
"She's back… can you believe it? Fired yesterday, and now the boss is gone because of her. Heard she got him ousted."
Another colleague scoffed. "Typical. She probably lied her way to it. That girl's trouble, mark my words."
I kept my head down, gripping my bag a little tighter, trying to ignore the sting in my chest.
"She doesn't even deserve to be here," someone muttered behind me, loud enough to hear.
I swallowed, forcing myself to walk past desks. A few eyes flicked toward me, sharp and curious. I nodded politely, muttering, "Good morning," though it sounded weak even to me.
"Look who's back," another whispered to a coworker, voice dripping with disbelief. "After all that drama yesterday… I can't believe HR let her back in."
"She probably manipulated the system somehow. You know her type," the first replied.
I froze for a moment, then exhaled quietly. My chair felt strange and foreign as I slid into it, my fingers trembling as I touched the scattered papers and folders on my desk.
"Wonder if she's going to try pulling the same stunt again," someone muttered from across the room.
"She's dangerous… remember what she did to Mr. Harris?" another added.
I clenched my fists under the desk. That was the moment I realized—no one was on my side. Not even Sarah from accounting, who usually gave me quiet smiles, didn't meet my eyes today.
I forced myself to start opening my laptop, hands shaking slightly. Every click felt like reclaiming a tiny piece of control, but the tension in the office was suffocating.
"Can't believe HR let her back," someone muttered as I typed a reply to an email.
"She'll ruin everything if she's not careful," another said, glancing at me and smirking.
I felt the weight of every pair of eyes, every whispered judgment. The subtle shift in the office atmosphere—my boss gone, the tension lifted for some—didn't reach me. For everyone else, I was a scandal, a liar, a troublemaker.
I kept my head down, pretending to focus on my emails, answering messages as methodically as possible. Every small movement felt like a battle against the invisible force of their stares.
"She's actually working… I didn't think she'd show up today," a low voice muttered nearby, followed by quiet laughter.
I pressed my lips together, determined to ignore them. Each keystroke, each folder I opened, was a silent rebellion against the whispers that clung to me like shadows.
By the afternoon, the murmurs had softened slightly as colleagues buried themselves in their own work, but the judgment lingered. I felt untethered yet exposed, a lone figure navigating the remnants of yesterday's chaos.
Even the small things—grabbing a pen, opening a notebook—felt like exercises in courage. The office had become a battlefield of eyes and whispers, and I was forced to move carefully through it, every step measured, every word weighed.
I exhaled slowly and muttered under my breath, "Just… survive today. Just survive."
The morning passed with quiet productivity. I responded to emails, filed documents, and tried to ignore the occasional lingering glance from colleagues. Every so often, a whispered comment would reach my ears, but I ignored it. Today was mine.
By late afternoon, I was tidying my desk when my phone buzzed. A message from Ryan: Meet me in the basement when you're done.
I frowned. Now? I typed back: I have to work overtime. You can go home first.
Almost immediately, his reply came: No overtime today. Come down when you're done. No problem.
I raised an eyebrow, suspicious. Did something happen? But before I could text again, the office announcement system crackled to life:
"Attention, all staff: From today onward, overtime is strictly banned. Everyone must leave on time. Thank you."
I blinked, startled. Huh… strange coincidence. I shook my head, thinking it must be a general office policy update.
I quickly finished tidying my desk, grabbed my bag, and headed down to the basement. Ryan was waiting, leaning casually against a sleek, dark-colored car. Not flashy, not ostentatious, but undeniably expensive. Elegant without showiness—perfectly suited to him.
"You're here," he said simply as I approached, sliding into the passenger seat with a faint smile.
"Thank you… for today. For… everything," I murmured, still amazed at how smoothly my day had turned out.
He gave a small nod, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "Don't thank me. Just… focus on yourself."
We drove in comfortable silence. The hum of the engine, the soft glow of streetlights, and the quiet intimacy of the ride made my chest flutter. Even small things—like the way he reached for a folder on the passenger seat or adjusted the rearview mirror