The Lie Between Us.

The lights from the bridge shimmered across the water like melted gold. Catherine leaned her elbows on the railing, the chill biting her skin, but she didn’t move.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she murmured.

Elijah stood beside her, silent.

“Snuck away without security. Escaped. Just… walked.”

“You look good escaping,” he said.

She smiled without turning. “You always this smooth, or just with heiresses?”

“I’m trying to keep up. You’re intimidating.”

“You haven’t even seen me in negotiation mode.”

“I hope I never do.”

She laughed lightly, but he didn’t. Not quite. His gaze was focused on the river, on the reflection of light and shadow dancing across dark water.

Then he said, “I used to walk this bridge every Sunday night.”

She turned to him.

“When I first got to the city,” he continued, “I didn’t have a place. Slept in a beat-up truck off 11th Avenue. Sunday nights were the worst. Quiet. Heavy. I’d come here and watch other people’s lives pass by like I was standing still.”

Catherine’s throat tightened. “You were homeless?”

“I was… choosing not to be found.”

“By who?”

He paused.

“Someone who wanted me to be someone else.”

That wasn’t the answer she expected. It wasn’t quite enough—but it was true. She could feel it in his voice.

“I thought you said you fixed bruised pride,” she whispered.

“I tried.” He gave her a tired smile. “Turns out, it bruises deeper than I thought.”

There was a silence. Not awkward. Not cold. Just… still.

Catherine shifted closer.

“Why do I feel like I only know the version of you you want me to see?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“And you’re good at lying.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

“I am.”

She stepped in front of him, meeting his eyes.

“I don’t want a perfect man, Elijah. I want a true one.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Because he wasn’t ready to be true.

Not yet.

So instead, he took a step forward.

Slow.

Careful.

And reached for her hand.

She let him.

They walked the bridge that night — slowly, together. Saying nothing more. Letting the silence carry what words couldn’t.

Flashback – Two Years Ago

Elijah Blake. 23. Manhattan.

He stood in the boardroom of Blakes International, surrounded by men in suits worth more than most homes. His father paced at the head of the table.

“I don’t care if you don’t want the position,” Jonathan Blakes snapped. “You’re the heir. You don’t get the luxury of disappearing into dirt and grease.”

“I’m not disappearing. I’m leaving.”

“You walk out of this building, and you walk out of this family.”

“Good.”

“You’ll lose everything.”

“Then I’ll finally be free.”

He meant it.

Until two months later, he saw her—Catherine—arguing with her driver, standing in heels on the sidewalk, beautiful and furious and impossibly out of reach.

And something cracked.

He had sworn off everything her world stood for.

And yet—he couldn’t stop himself.

So he lied.

Changed his name. Hid his past. Watched her come into his garage with fire in her eyes and something lonely in her voice.

He hadn’t meant to fall for her.

But here he was—every lie building a love that would burn when the truth came out.

Back to present

In Catherine’s penthouse, she stared at her reflection in the mirror after their walk. Hair wind-blown. Eyes wide.

Elijah had kissed her hand before leaving.

Not her lips.

Not yet.

But the tremble in her chest told her: It’s already too late.

She wanted him.

More than she wanted freedom.

More than she feared the fallout.

And that… terrified her.

Elijah’s apartment – same time

He pulled the envelope from his coat again.

Blakes Holdings Gala.

Catherine’s father — keynote speaker.

He stared at the RSVP line.

Unopened. Undecided.

Unforgiven.

And whispered to the empty room,

“I should’ve stayed gone.”