Chapter five

The necklace felt like a brand against my skin as I stood outside Dominic’s penthouse at eight fifty seven. Three minutes early, but I couldn’t bring myself to knock yet. My reflection stared back at me from the polished brass of his door number, the Art Deco diamonds catching the hallway light, throwing tiny rainbows across my throat.

I had changed clothes four times. Settled on a simple black dress that could pass for professional or personal depending on how you looked at it. My armor and my surrender all at once.

At exactly nine, I knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, like he had been waiting on the other side. Dominic stood there in dark slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, no tie. He looked different without the full suit, more human somehow, but no less devastating.

His eyes went straight to the necklace. Something dark and possessive flickered across his face before he locked it down.

“You wore it,” he said quietly.

“You told me to.”

“I shouldn’t have.” But he stepped aside, gesturing me in. “Come in, Bella.”

The penthouse was exactly what I expected and nothing like it at the same time. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than most people’s cars, art on the walls that looked museum quality. But there were also small signs of life, a book left open on the coffee table, reading glasses abandoned on the arm of the sofa, a coffee mug that hadn’t been put away.

He lived here. Really lived here. It made him feel more real, more reachable.

More dangerous.

“Drink?” he asked, moving to a bar cart that held bottles I recognized from my father’s study.

“Whatever you’re having.”

He poured two glasses of scotch, neat, and handed me one. Our fingers didn’t touch, but I felt the heat of him anyway.

“We should sit,” he said, gesturing to the seating area by the windows.

I chose the sofa. He took the chair across from me, maintaining careful distance. The city glittered below us, millions of lives playing out in those lit windows, and I wondered how many of them were as complicated as this.

“You said we needed to discuss the project,” I said, breaking the silence.

“I lied.” He took a drink, his jaw tight. “We need to discuss what happened two years ago. What’s been happening since you came back. What almost happened in my car, in your father’s study, in a dozen moments where I’ve been one second away from doing something unforgivable.”

My heart kicked against my ribs. “Dominic—”

“Let me finish.” He set down his glass, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together like he was praying or preparing for battle. “I’ve been lying to myself for two years. Telling myself that kiss in the garden was a mistake, that I was drunk and grieving and you were just being kind. That if I pushed you away hard enough, you’d forget about it and move on with your life.”

“I did move on. I dated other people. I built a career in London.”

“Did you forget?”

The question hung between us, weighted with too much truth.

“No,” I admitted. “I didn’t forget.”

He closed his eyes briefly, like my answer was both a relief and a wound. “Neither did I. I tried, Christ knows I tried. But then you came back, and the second I saw you on that terrace, I knew I was in trouble. Because you’re not the girl I used to know anymore. You’re a woman who knows what she wants, who isn’t afraid to go after it. And the way you look at me…”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like you see through all my careful control. Like you know exactly what I’m thinking, what I want, what I’m fighting not to do.” His voice dropped, rough and honest. “Like you’d let me.”

Heat rushed throuh me. “I would.”

“I know. That’s the problem.” He stood abruptly, moving to the windows, putting distance between us. “Your father is my bestfriend, Bella. The only person who was there for me after Vanessa died. When I was drinking too much and barely functional, he pulled me back from the edge. He trusted me with his business, with his family, with you. And this, what we’re doing right now, it’s a betrayal of that trust.”

I set down my scotch and stood, moving toward him. “What if he doesn’t have to know?”

“He’ll know. Men like Victor always know.” Dominic turned to face me, and the hunger in his eyes made my breath catch. “And even if he didn’t, I’d know. I’d have to look him in the eye every day knowing I crossed a line I swore I never would.”

“So what are we doing here? Why did you ask me to come if you’ve already decided nothing can happen?”

“Because I needed you to understand.” He took a step closer, then another, until we were inches apart. “I need you to know that this isn’t about not wanting you. It’s never been about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about the fact that you’re twenty five and I’m forty five. That I’ve known you since you were three years old. That I taught you how to ride a bike and helped you with your architecture school applications. That your father calls me his brother.” His hand lifted like he was going to touch my face, then dropped. “It’s about the fact that I can’t offer you what you deserve. A man without ghosts, without complications, without twenty years of history tying him to your family.”

“What if I don’t want that? What if I just want you?”

The words came out braver than I felt, but I meant them. Every syllable.

Dominic’s control cracked. I saw it happen, saw the exact moment the wall he’d built between us started to crumble. He cupped my face with both hands, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said roughly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Bella—”

I rose up on my toes, closing the distance, and kissed him.

For half a second he froze, shocked into stillness. Then he was kissing me back, fierce and hungry and nothing like the grief stricken kiss in the garden two years ago. This was different. This was him fully present, fully aware, making a choice he knew he shouldn’t make but couldn’t stop himself from making anyway.

His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back so he could deepen the kiss. I gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more of this, more of him, more of everything we’d been denying ourselves for too long.

He tasted like scotch and desperation and something that felt dangerously like coming home.

Then once again his phone rang.

VICTOR CALLING.

Dominic answered, his voice remarkably steady despite the fact that he was still breathing like he’d run a marathon. “Victor. What’s up?”

I couldn’t hear my father’s response, but I watched Dominic’s face as he listened. Watched him rebuild his walls in real time, brick by brick, until the man who had just kissed me like he was drowning was gone, replaced by the composed businessman my father knew.

“Tomorrow morning works,” Dominic said. “Eight o’clock. I’ll be there.” A pause. “No, just going over some project details. About to call it a night actually.” His eyes met mine, and what I saw there made my chest ache. “See you then.”

He ended the call and we stared at each other in the suffocating silence.

“This is why,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “This is exactly why we can’t do this. He calls, and I lie to him. I’ve never lied to Victor in twenty five years, and now I can’t even make it through one conversation without betraying him.”

“Dominic—”

“You should go.” He took several steps back, putting the width of the room between us. “This was a mistake. I never should have asked you here.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out again.”

“I have to.” He dragged a hand through his hair, and for the first time, he looked his age. Tired. Defeated. “For the next six months, we’re going to work together on this project. Professionally. That’s all this can be.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I have to.” His jaw clenched. “You’re brilliant, Bella. Your vision for the tower is exactly what it needs. But if we continue down this path, we’l destroy it. We’ll destroy your relationship with your father, my friendship with him, probably the project itself. Is that what you want?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Then help me do the right thing. Please.”

The please broke something in me. He never said please. Never asked foe anything. But here he was, practically begging me to help him resist something we both wanted.

I touched the necklace at my throat. “What about this?”

“Keep it. It suits you.” His smile was sad, broken. “Consider it a gift for winning the pitch. Nothing more.”

“That’s not what it was when you sent it.”

“It is now.”

I wanted to fight him. Wanted to argue that we were adults who could make our own choices, that my father didnt get to dictate who I could and couldn’t want, that age and history didn’t matter if the feeling was real. But I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of guilt already crushing him, and I knew I couldn’t push anymore.

Not tonight.

“Professional,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “That’s what you want?”

“It’s what has to happen.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I set down my scotch glass, grabbed my clutch, and walked toward the door. Dominic didn’t follow me, didn’t try to stop me, just watched me leave with an expression that looked like mourning.

I paused at the door, my hand on the handle. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong. I think we could figure this out if you’d let us try.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I’m not willing to risk your father to find out.”

I left without another word, rode the elevator down sixty one floors with my reflection staring back at me, the necklace still warm against my skin. I could still taste him on my lips, still feel the ghost of his hands in my hair.