Chapter 2: The Promise of Tomorrow (Part 2)

"No regrets," I whispered to the empty air. "There's no reason to regret this."

I forced a small smile. Reaching out, I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertip, from his ear down to the stubble on his chin. He didn't stir. He looked peaceful, almost innocent in the early light.

I moved to get up, but a sharp sting shot through me the moment my feet hit the floor. I winced, biting my lip to keep from making a sound, and waited for the discomfort to fade into a dull throb.

As I stood, my eyes swept over the floor. Our clothes were a tangled mess on the hardwood—a silent, messy testament to the night before.

I stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at a version of myself I didn't quite recognize. My hair was a bird's nest, my cheeks were still flushed, and there was a new shadow in my eyes.

"It’s fine," I told my reflection, my voice steadier this time. "He's going to be my husband."

The hot water of the shower helped wash away the lingering tension. By the time I stepped out, a towel wrapped tightly around me, Archer was finally stirring. He rubbed his eyes, squinting as he saw me in the doorway.

"Morning, beautiful," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

"Morning." I offered a small, shy smile, the awkwardness clawing at the back of my throat.

I walked over to the small closet in the corner. I kept a few changes of office wear here—the commute from my place was a nightmare compared to his spot in Tribeca.

"Get up. You need to shower or we’re both going to be late."

Archer sat up, yawning. "In a minute." He slid out of bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. "How about an encore before we head to the office?"

I pulled away, my face heating up instantly. "No... I’m still a little sore."

He let out a low chuckle. "Fair enough. I guess I’m being selfish."

"Go! Move!" I gave him a playful shove toward the bathroom.

While he showered, I gathered our discarded clothes and tossed them into the hamper. I moved to the kitchenette and threw together a quick breakfast—toast and eggs. It wasn't five-star, but it was fuel.

We ate in a comfortable, if somewhat heavy, silence. There were brief glances, small smiles that carried the weight of the previous night. Then, it was back to reality. We headed down to the garage and drove toward Midtown in his black sedan, just like any other Tuesday.

At Kensington Tech, the professional mask slid back into place. No one would have guessed our relationship had just shifted onto a permanent foundation. I headed to my desk in the finance department, while Archer, in his role as Project Manager, disappeared into the glass-walled offices of the executive wing.

By lunchtime, I was starving. I walked over to his office, but the space was empty. I pulled out my phone and shot him a quick text.

Hey, lunch?

My phone buzzed almost immediately. Grabbing a bite with a client. Eat without me, babe. Catch you later?

Sure, I replied, trying to ignore the small prick of disappointment.

"Where's Archer, Evie?"

I turned to see Sophie Marlowe leaning against the partition. She was already holding her purse, looking at Archer’s empty desk with a raised eyebrow.

"Lunch with a client," I said, reaching for my own bag.

"Typical. Well, you're stuck with me then. I’m driving—let’s get out of Midtown for an hour."

"Sounds good," I agreed.

A few minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of Sophie’s car as we wove through the city traffic. She decided on a spot a few blocks over, away from our usual corporate haunts.

As we slowed down to turn into a parking garage, my gaze drifted toward a large plate-glass window of a bistro we were passing. My heart didn't just skip a beat—it stopped.

There, through the glass, sat Archer.

He wasn't with a client. He was sitting across from a woman I knew all too well. The long blonde hair, the effortless, expensive elegance that always made me feel small.

Sienna Harrington. His ex.

They weren't just talking. They were leaning in, their heads close together in a way that looked far too intimate for a casual lunch.