MasukI know Rafe’s baseline habits better than I know my own reflection at this point. The guy is practically carved out of marble—observant, entirely composed, and impossible to distract with anything short of a physical emergency or a direct threat to his schedule. He’s the kind of guy who can stand in a packed, deafening room and look like he’s calculating chess moves three steps ahead while everyone else is just scrambling for canapés.Yet, right here, and right now, he’s standing frozen with a gin and tonic in his hand that hasn’t seen a sip in ten minutes, staring dead-ahead at a woman who hasn’t even spared him a single glance.I don’t say anything right away. I just stand back, leaning against a velvet-draped pillar, and watch him.He doesn't blink for even a second. He just keeps staring.I clear my throat, loud enough to rattle the ice in my glass, but there's absolute silence from his end. Nothing at all, because he’s completely locked in a trance.“Rafael,” I say, keeping my v
My gaze snaps back to her just as she begins to turn on her heel toward the main entrance. And that is the exact millisecond she sees me.There is no guessing when it happens. I can track the exact shift in the air.Her welcoming smile falters and stalls midway across her face. Her slender fingers tighten instinctively around the ceramic cup she's holding, and for one suspended, breathless second, she looks as though she's completely forgotten how to breathe, let alone what she was about to say to the person standing next to her.The low ambient roar of the party continues to swirl around us, as our eyes lock across the crowded room, but to my ears, it drops to a dead, absolute hush.Now there is the woman I have spent the last countless agonizing days trying desperately not to reach for. The woman whose lingering absence has haunted me into every empty hotel suite, every late-night strategy session, and every cold morning when I woke up with the phantom urge to tell her something fun
And now, look at her laughing. Working, thriving, and living her actual life.My chest tightens, but not with the sharp, acidic sting I half-expected to feel. There is no bitterness left in my throat. No ugly resentment clawing at my ribs.There is only this overwhelming, dizzying wave of sheer relief.She is okay.Hell, she isn't just okay, she is radiant. She is building something extraordinary out of the wreckage of her past.I watch as she graciously thanks the customer before pivoting to address one of her floor assistants. She points a slender finger toward a clothing rack, issues a quiet instruction I'm too far away to catch, and patiently waits while the younger woman rearranges the display.Meeka studies the new arrangement with an expression of such intense, fierce concentration that a slow, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of my own mouth.Some things never change.She is still meticulously particular. Still hyper-observant. Still utterly convinced that if something in
SLADE'S POV::For the better part of the last two months, New York has just been a skyline I left in the rearview mirror.Business, mostly. The kind of grinding, endless corporate expansion that sucks the oxygen out of every room you walk into. My company has been pushing hard into new regional markets, and a dozen high-stakes operational choices demanded my literal, physical presence. Between high-pressure negotiations with stubborn new partners, grueling factory floor inspections, and back-to-back boardroom meetings that felt engineered to consume every waking hour of my existence, I’ve logged more miles in cramped airplanes and hotel rooms than I care to admit.It is exhausting. Relentlessly, bone-deep exhausting. But it’s productive, too.And, if I'm being brutally honest with myself, the physical distance has done me some good. Not because being hundreds of miles away somehow managed to magic Meeka out of my head. That would be a completely ridiculous expectation, considering I
Why in the freaking world is Nathaniel here too?He's hanging back near the doorway, staying well out of the main foot traffic like he’s trying not to draw attention to himself. His eyes sweep methodically over the room, taking in the lighting, the guests, the framed sketches, the rack displays, and finally, his eyes land on me.I brace myself, expecting to see the usual sharp irritation, or disappointment, or that flat, icy look he gives me whenever I don't fall in line. But his face is completely unreadable today. He doesn't move toward me, and I don't take a single step toward him either.For the first time in my life, I don't feel that frantic, exhausting urge to run over and fix the tense silence between us. I don't owe him a speech. I don't owe anyone an explanation for why I’m standing in this room today.I turn my back on him.I force my mind back into the room, back to the people who actually bought tickets to be here, back to my crew, my work, my actual life. I can still fee
He doesn't offer a polite smile, nor does he look shocked to see me standing there in the spotlight. He just holds my gaze for a long, heavy moment before his eyes slowly drift away, taking in the rest of the studio.He looks at the display racks I spent weeks organizing. He looks at the mood boards framed on the brick wall. He watches a guest laugh while holding up one of my jackets against her shoulders.And as he takes it all in, something subtle shifts around his jaw and his eyes.Pride.God, I hate how much that hurts. It hits harder than if he’d looked at me with cold indifference. Because Slade actually knows. He was one of the very few people who saw me sitting on the floor of my apartment very late in the night, surrounded by paper scraps and crying over ruined thread tension, desperate to make this happen. He knew what this meant to me before there was a studio, before there were employees, before any of this was real.He knew the dream when it was just a pathetic, terrifyin
MEEKA'S POV::My soul has yet to return to my body. I’m frozen, not moving or breathing, just staring straight ahead, my trembling hands clinging to the wheel as if letting go would send us tumbling into space.The noise of the cheering crowd finally breaks through, and I’m jolt
The drive to Meeka’s place is even quieter than the night itself.She’s slumped in the passenger seat, buried in the jacket I practically forced onto her the second she stopped shaking enough to walk. Her hands are tucked deep into the sleeves, like she’s trying to disappear inside the fabric. Sin
"Meeka."Hearing my real name stops me in my tracks.Even though I’m still angry with him, I dislike that he called me that. I wish he understood just how much I’ve come to hate it when he uses my name instead of the other one he calls me, and hearing it now only tightens something in my chest.I l
MEEKA'S POV:: “Nathaniel is tracking me.”The words crawl out of my throat, feeling heavy and bitter. But the moment they’re out in the air, a knot twists tight in my chest. It’s not just the realization; it’s the memory that slams into the back of my mind immediately after.My fingers curl into m