The penthouse was unnervingly quiet. Not the kind of quiet that offered peace, but the kind that echoed—an oppressive hush that made every step Ariana Blake took sound like a confession. She sat on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, the silk of her shirt clinging to her skin, still damp from the rain earlier. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, pained rhythm, eyes fixed on the skyline outside.
It wasn't the city that hurt her.
It was the silence from the man pacing behind her.
Leonardo Maddox Cross—thirty-five, six-foot-three, impossibly composed even when the world was on fire—stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his jaw tight, expression unreadable. The ambient city light caught the angles of his face—chiseled cheekbones, a strong nose, that perfectly disciplined five o'clock shadow. He looked every bit the untouchable titan he was… but Ariana could feel the fracture lines underneath.
"I can't keep doing this, Leo," she whispered without turning. Her voice cracked like old porcelain. "This whole thing—us—it's destroying me."
His footsteps stilled.
Silence.
Then the soft rustle of him lowering himself into the armchair across from her.
"I know," he said finally. It wasn't his usual tone. It wasn't cold or clipped. It was raw. Human. "I know it is."
She looked at him then. Not just the surface—the power suit, the empire, the control—but him. The man with storm-colored eyes and a mouth that rarely smiled unless it was sharp. The man who made her heart race and her temper flare. The man who, even now, looked like he was calculating how to protect her without letting her in.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly. "About the investor. About the leak. About everything."
Leo leaned back. His gaze flickered to the fireplace, though it wasn't lit.
"I didn't want you involved in any more chaos. I thought… if I handled it alone, you'd be safer."
"You don't get to decide that," she snapped, voice rising before she caught herself. "You don't get to shield me and shut me out at the same time."
His throat worked. "I didn't know how else to protect you."
"You could have trusted me."
That landed like a blow.
Leo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tight like he was holding something in.
"You want honesty?" he asked, voice lower now. "Real honesty?"
Ariana nodded. "I want the truth, Leo. Not your polished version. Not your silence. Just… the truth."
He stood. Not to walk away—but to move closer. He sat beside her on the couch, their shoulders almost touching. She could smell his cologne—amber and musk—and the storm on his skin.
"I had a brother," he said.
The shift in his tone was seismic.
Ariana's breath hitched, but she stayed quiet, letting him speak.
"Michael. Two years younger. He was the golden one. Charming, bright, reckless in a way I never let myself be." Leo smiled, but it was bitter, almost painful. "I was always the fixer. The cleaner. When he messed up, I cleaned it up. When he drank too much, or got in trouble, I made it disappear."
Ariana listened, heart softening.
"We were close, in our way," Leo continued. "But he hated that I controlled things. Thought I never let him breathe. One night, he took the yacht out—our yacht. He was drunk. Furious after a fight with me. I told him he wasn't ready for the business. He thought I was just trying to cut him out."
His voice broke for the first time. Just slightly.
"They found the wreck two days later," Leo said. "And his body… washed ashore a week after that."
Ariana covered her mouth with her hand. "Leo…"
"I wasn't there," he said. "I should've been. I should've stopped him. I should've followed him. Something. Anything. But I let him go, because I thought I'd already done enough."
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with grief and guilt and everything unsaid.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I haven't told anyone that," he said. "Not even Adrian. Not my mother. No one."
"Why now?"
Leo turned to her then, eyes dark and vulnerable. "Because you keep getting hurt because of me. And I keep pretending this isn't something real. But it is. I feel things, Ariana. When you're near me. When you're gone. I can't sleep. I can't think straight. I want to protect you, but I'm the one doing the most damage."
She stared at him, heart thudding.
"I'm not built for love," he said quietly. "I don't know how to be good at it. I don't know how to say the right things. Or… be the man you deserve."
Ariana swallowed, throat burning. "Leo…"
He reached up, touching her face gently. His thumb brushed a tear she didn't know had fallen.
"I just know I can't stop thinking about you," he said. "I can't stop needing you. And that scares the hell out of me."
Ariana didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Her breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling in her lap.
Because this—this unguarded, broken confession—was more intimate than any kiss they'd shared.
"I don't need you to be perfect," she said finally, voice soft. "I just need you to be real."
"I'm trying," Leo murmured. "But you're the only thing that's ever made me want to try."
She closed the space between them, forehead resting against his. Their breath mingled, and for once, there was no storm between them—just stillness.
"I don't know what happens next," she admitted.
"Neither do I," Leo whispered. "But I want to figure it out. With you."
She nodded, closing her eyes.
And in that moment, there were no contracts. No press. No pressure.
Just Leo and Ariana, sitting in the ruins of their old lives—finally ready to build something real.
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