The storm outside the penthouse window raged as if echoing the emotions inside. Manhattan's skyline shimmered under flashes of lightning, but Ariana Blake barely noticed. She stood in Leo's study, soaked from the rain, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Ariana, 26, stood five-foot-seven, her almond-toned skin pale under the warm lamplight. Her dark brown hair clung to her face, soaked from her escape earlier, and her brown eyes were swollen from tears she hadn't meant to cry. She wore a thin black sweater and jeans—clothes she hadn't planned to wear when her world tilted sideways just hours earlier.
Leonardo Maddox Cross—33, six-foot-two, with steel-blue eyes and meticulously styled raven-black hair—watched her from across the room. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, and dark slacks, Leo's usual armor of detachment was nowhere to be seen. The tension between them wasn't sharp anymore—it was bruised, quiet, and brimming with truths neither had wanted to confront.
"I'm not going to ask you to stay," he said finally, voice low. "You've earned the right to walk away."
Ariana looked up slowly. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.
He exhaled. "But I need to tell you something first."
He walked to the fireplace, kneeling to stoke the flames. The orange glow illuminated his angular face, casting long shadows behind him. His penthouse was silent save for the crackle of fire and the low hum of the storm.
"The contract," he said, standing again. "It started as a business transaction. For both of us. And I kept it that way because… it was safer. I thought control meant protection."
He reached into a drawer behind his desk and pulled out a black folder. Inside was the original contract they both had signed.
Ariana watched as he tore it in half.
And then again.
And again.
The pieces fluttered like dead leaves, landing in the fireplace, curling into ash.
She stared, mouth agape. "What are you doing?"
Leo's voice was hoarse. "Ending the deal. I'm not offering you protection anymore. I'm offering you choice."
Ariana took a shaky breath. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. "What does that mean?"
Leo walked closer, closing the distance between them. The storm outside softened to a steady rain. His eyes met hers—unguarded, vulnerable.
"It means I want you to stay. No rules. No contracts. No performance. Just... us. If you want that."
Ariana's throat tightened. She wanted to speak, but all the words jumbled in her head.
"I know I've hurt you," he continued. "By shutting you out. By not trusting you enough to tell you about the investor who tried to frame you. By not defending you publicly when I should've. But the truth is…"
He paused, eyes flickering with something raw. "I don't know how to love the way normal people do. I never learned. But I can't stop thinking about you. I can't imagine waking up and not seeing you in my home. In my life."
Tears brimmed in Ariana's eyes.
"I'm not asking you to fix me," he said, voice almost a whisper. "But if you stay… maybe we can figure out what this is. Together."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Ariana stepped forward.
One small step. Then another.
When she reached him, she looked up into his eyes, searching.
"I'm terrified," she said. "This wasn't supposed to be real. I signed a contract to save myself. Not to fall in love with a man who shuts everyone out."
He didn't flinch at the word. But something shifted in his eyes.
"And yet," she continued, "here I am. Standing in front of you. Wanting to stay. Not because I have to. Because I want to."
His chest rose sharply, as if he'd been holding his breath.
"I'm still scared," she added. "But maybe that's okay."
Leo reached up and gently brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek. "I'm scared too."
She leaned into his touch.
And in that moment, the storm quieted to a whisper outside.
---
They sat by the fire, wrapped in silence and a blanket Ariana had pulled from the couch. She rested her head against his shoulder, eyes closed, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The room was warm, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of cedarwood and rain.
"I didn't expect you to tear up the contract," she murmured.
Leo glanced down at her. "It was the easiest decision I've made in a long time."
Ariana smiled faintly. "So what now?"
He tilted his head. "Now… we start over. As equals. No more business masks."
She chuckled softly. "That's going to take some getting used to."
Leo's lips curved. "You'll keep me in line."
They sat quietly again, until Ariana sat up slightly.
"There's one thing," she said.
"Name it."
"I want my own space back. My work. My studio. I need that."
He nodded. "Done. I'll help however you want."
She arched an eyebrow. "That's not what I said. I don't want funding. I want to do this on my own."
Leo paused. "Then let me be your first client."
She blinked. "What?"
"My place. The downtown brownstone. I bought it two years ago but haven't touched the interiors. I was saving it for… something meaningful. Design it. Completely. Your vision."
Ariana stared at him, stunned.
"Consider it a blank canvas," he added. "And a statement. Your work. Your name."
Her throat tightened again. "You really mean that?"
Leo nodded. "I want the world to see what you can do. Not because of me. But because of you."
---
Later that night, as Ariana changed into dry clothes and Leo poured them glasses of wine, the weight of the evening settled in her chest—not heavy, but grounding.
She emerged in one of Leo's oversized T-shirts, her hair loosely tied back. He looked up and froze, something soft flickering in his eyes.
"What?" she asked, smiling cautiously.
"You look… right here," he murmured.
She crossed the room and took the wine he offered.
"To the new deal," she said, lifting her glass.
He clinked it gently. "No deal. Just us."
They sipped in quiet.
Later, when he offered her the bed and she countered with the couch, they argued half-heartedly until he dragged a mattress topper and pillows to the living room.
Side by side on the floor, the city glowing through the windows, they lay in silence.
Not touching.
Not needing to.
Because for the first time, the distance wasn't avoidance.
It was possibility.
And that was enough—for now.