His penthouse was as I remembered - a testament to immense wealth and absolutely zero life. All cool marble, sharp angles, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a view that belonged on a postcard. It was stunning, and as sterile as a museum exhibit.
"Okay, first order of business," I announced, my voice echoing slightly in the vast, open space. I pointed towards the hallway which led to the bedrooms. "Shower. You smell like whiteboard marker and desperation."
Kaelen offered a mock-offended look, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him. He didn't argue. He just captured my hand, brought it to his lips for a quick kiss, and murmured, "Don't go anywhere," before disappearing down the hall.
I busied myself exploring the cavernous kitchen, opening cabinets to find pristine, lightly used cookware. It was like a showroom. I was peering into a tragically empty fruit bowl when I heard his footsteps return.
I turned, and I gasped, not prepared for what I saw.
Kaelen stood at the entrance to the living room, hair dripping droplets onto his shoulders, wearing nothing but a low-slung white towel. The morning sun glinted off the water tracing paths down his chest, a chest I had felt but not truly seen—all honed muscle and sharp lines, a map of the discipline and strength that defined him. A faint, silvery scar cut a diagonal line across his ribs, a tiny, human flaw on a seemingly perfect form. He looked… real. Mortal and magnificent all at once.
"See something you like?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
I found my voice, though it was a little breathless. "I'm taking inventory," I managed, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter, hoping I looked more nonchalant than I felt. "A good corporate personnel should always know her assets."
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that did funny things to my insides. He ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. "The closet is that way," he said, nodding toward the hall. "But I find I'm in no rush to get dressed."
My heart kicked against my ribs. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm." He walked toward me, all sleek, confident grace, stopping just inches away. The scent of his soap—clean and masculine—wrapped around me. "Unless you're issuing another executive order?"
He was challenging me. Flirting. It was a side of him I'd only glimpsed, and it was utterly intoxicating.
"One thing at a time," I said, placing a hand on his chest to gently—and firmly—hold him at bay. The feel of his warm, damp skin under my palm was a minor electric shock. "First, coffee. Then, we'll see about the dress code."
He captured my hand, pressing it more firmly against his heart. "Bossy," he murmured, his eyes dancing.
"You have no idea," I whispered back.
He laughed again, finally releasing me and turning to the monstrous espresso machine. "Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm a liability in the kitchen."
Sure enough. What followed was a fiasco, a show of total incompetence. The CEO who could orchestrate billion-dollar mergers fumbled with the expensive espresso machine, scattering grounds across the counter, nearly burning himself on the steam wand. He looked so adorably frustrated, his brow furrowed in concentration, that a giggle escaped me. Then another. Soon, we were both leaning against the counter, laughing helplessly as the machine hissed and sputtered like a betrayed cat.
"You're a menace," I choked out, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
"It's harder than it looks!" he protested, but he was grinning, a real, unguarded, heart-stopping grin.
I shooed him away. "Go. Sit. Let the professionals handle this." I called down to the concierge, and within minutes, his housekeeper, Flora, a warm-eyed woman who seemed to understand the situation instantly, arrived with a bag of groceries. Together, we whipped up a simple breakfast of fluffy scrambled eggs and toast while Kaelen, now finally dressed, watched from a stool, looking more content than I'd ever seen him.
After we ate, I nudged him. "Nap time. For real this time."
He didn't argue. He just took my hand and led me to his bedroom—a vast, minimalist space with a bed the size of a small country. We collapsed into the cool, silken sheets. He gathered me against him, my back to his chest, his arm a heavy, secure weight around my waist. There were no more words. The only sounds were our synchronizing breaths and the distant hum of the city. For the first time in either of our lives, perhaps, we simply… let go. And slept.
I woke hours later, warm and disoriented, still wrapped in his arms. He was awake, his chin resting on my head.
"Elara," he whispered into my hair, his voice thick with sleep and something else. "About the other day… about Bella… I am so—"
I turned in his arms, stopping his words with a gentle finger on his lips. "No," I said softly, looking into his stormy eyes. "No more apologies for the past. We start from here. From this moment. Right now."
The relief that washed over his features was a tangible thing. He nodded, his gaze dropping to my lips. "From right now," he echoed, and then he kissed me. It was a kiss of pure, uncomplicated happiness, a seal on our new beginning.
As dusk painted the sky in shades of violet and orange, he propped himself up on an elbow, a boyish, nervous energy about him.
"I want to take you on a date," he declared.
I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And what does a Kaelen Vancourt date entail?"
He had the decency to look sheepish. "I don't actually know. I've never… done this." He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, typed furiously for a moment, and then scowled at the screen. "Lucas says girls like shopping."
I burst out laughing. "Lucas is an idiot. But," I added, sitting up, the idea suddenly appealing, "a stroll sounds perfect. No agenda. Just… us."
An hour later, we were walking hand-in-hand through the gleaming, opulent halls of the Crystal Galleria. It was mundane and wonderful. We window-shopped, he made fun of my taste in outrageously expensive handbags, and I dragged him into a bookstore, pointing out my favorite novels. We were just a couple, anonymous in the crowd, sharing soft smiles and lighter hearts.
It was so perfectly normal that I should have known it couldn't last.
We rounded a corner, heading towards the fountain, and the world slammed to a halt.
There, standing by the bubbling water as if they'd been placed there by the universe's cruellest stage manager, were Liam and Chloe. Chloe was holding up a garishly expensive dress, preening while Liam looked on, a bored indulgence on his face. A picture of a shallow, contented couple—a mockery of what I'd once thought I wanted.
Liam's eyes, scanning the crowd with disinterest, snagged on me. Then on Kaelen. Then on our joined hands. His bored expression evaporated, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock.
Chloe followed his gaze. Her initial surprise quickly curdled into a venomous, gleeful smirk. She sauntered over, dragging a stunned Liam in her wake.
"Well, look what we have here," Chloe purred, her eyes sweeping over me with contemptuous pity. "My dear sister, I heard you were so brokenhearted you couldn't even show your face after the soirée. Tell me, was it terribly painful? Seeing the man you threw yourself at, kissing another woman right in front of you?" She let out a tinkling, fake laugh. "And you just vanished. How very… weak."
The words were designed to flay me open, to remind me of my most public humiliation. I felt Kaelen go rigid beside me. His hand, holding mine, tightened to the point of pain. He was hearing, for the first time, the raw, cruel narrative of how hurt I was then. I could feel the shock and the fresh wave of guilt radiate from him.
Before I could shred Chloe with a reply, Liam found his voice, his eyes locked on Kaelen with a malicious glint.
"And Uncle Kaelen," Liam sneered, putting a disgusting emphasis on the familial title. "Playing the comforting knight now? Tsk. What would dear Bella say? After you gave her so much… public encouragement." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Does she know you're here, consoling your jilted business partner?"
The air around Kaelen turned arctic. The casual, happy man from moments ago was gone, replaced by the ruthless CEO, his expression a mask of cold fury. But I could feel the tremor in his hand, the one holding mine. Liam's taunt had struck its intended target, twisting the knife of his own regret.
The ghosts of my past life were smiling at us, their words laced with poison designed to resurrect old pains and insecurities.
But instead of the old, familiar sting of betrayal, all I felt was a cold, clear fury. And the solid, warm, furious anchor of the man standing beside me, whose silence promised a reckoning far worse than any childish taunt.
But before he could speak, or Chloe could relish her moment, I let out a soft, bored sigh.
I looked at Liam, not with anger or pain, but with utter weariness, as if he were a tedious commercial I'd already sat through too many times.
"Oh God, Liam," I said, my voice flat and unimpressed. "Isn't there anything else you could talk about? Perhaps something useful?"
The effect was immediate and absolute. My utter lack of reaction, my sheer boredom with their drama, was a weapon they had no defense against. Liam's nasty smirk froze and died. Chloe looked baffled, her prepared venom turning useless in her mouth.
I didn't wait for a sputtered reply. I simply turned to Kaelen, whose tense posture had shifted to one of awe. I gave his hand a gentle pull.
"Come on," I said softly, my voice warm again, meant only for him. "The air just got stale."