The door wasn't locked.
That was the first thing Ariana noticed as she stood in front of the dark wood entrance to Leo's private study.
It had always seemed... off-limits. Not explicitly forbidden, but unspoken in its boundary. Like a quiet signal meant to say: "Here, you don't belong."
But tonight, something pulled her toward it. Curiosity, maybe. Or restlessness.
Or something deeper—something she couldn't name.
She hesitated before pushing it open.
The study smelled like cedarwood and clean leather. The walls were a rich matte black, accented with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and gold-trimmed sconces. A single desk lamp cast a pool of warm light across the sleek marble desk. Everything was perfectly arranged. Impeccably designed. Just like him.
Yet the room wasn't empty.
It was layered—with presence. History.
Stories no one had told her yet.
She stepped inside quietly, her bare feet soundless against the imported stone floors.
Then her gaze landed on a photo frame tucked into the corner of a shelf.
It didn't fit.
There was nothing calculated about it. No expensive frame, no curated pose. It was raw, almost faded. Two boys in their teens, arms slung around each other, laughing on what looked like a beach. One of them was unmistakably Leo—taller, leaner, seventeen maybe. His smile was unguarded, genuine. Happy.
The other boy looked just like him. Just... lighter.
Blonder hair. Freckles. Warm eyes.
Same bone structure, same smirk.
Her stomach clenched.
She leaned closer.
His brother.
That much was clear.
Before she could think better of it, she picked up the frame.
"You shouldn't be in here."
The voice behind her was ice.
She turned quickly, startled. "Leo—"
He stood at the doorway, jaw clenched, hands rigid at his sides.
"I—" She held up the frame. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"You're holding something that doesn't belong to you."
Ariana gently set the photo back on the shelf. "The door was open."
"That doesn't mean it's an invitation."
"I wasn't trying to invade your privacy."
Leo stepped further inside, and suddenly the room felt smaller. Charged.
"It's not about privacy," he said. "It's about boundaries."
"You gave me a key to a studio. A sketchpad. You sat with me when I had a fever. And you're angry because I looked at a photo?"
He didn't answer.
She softened. "Who was he?"
Leo's expression shifted, pain flashing beneath the cool exterior.
"My twin."
Her breath caught. "I didn't know you were a twin."
"Most people don't."
She hesitated. "Do you want to talk about him?"
"No."
A long silence stretched between them.
Ariana finally nodded. "Okay. Then I'll go."
She turned, but his voice stopped her.
"His name was Lucian."
Her hand stilled on the doorknob.
Leo was staring at the photograph now. His posture still guarded, but something had cracked.
"We were seventeen when he died," he said, voice low. "Motorcycle accident. I told him not to go out that night. Roads were slick. He didn't listen."
Ariana moved back, slowly.
"I blamed myself for a long time," Leo continued, not looking at her. "He was the better one. Lighter. Funny. People liked him. I was the quiet one. The one who planned everything. Controlled everything."
She sat on the arm of a nearby leather chair, watching him.
"I took over the business side after he died," Leo said. "Our family was a mess. My father went off the rails. My mother checked out emotionally. I didn't have the luxury of grieving."
His voice hardened.
"So I built walls. I made money. I made sure I'd never need anyone again."
Ariana's eyes stung.
"That's a hell of a thing to carry," she whispered.
He finally looked at her.
"I don't need pity."
"This isn't pity, Leo."
She stood, slowly crossing the space between them.
"This is someone trying to understand the man she's legally bound to."
Leo's eyes dropped to the floor. "It's why I didn't want to do this. Any of it. Marriage. Love. Whatever people call it. Because it starts like this—vulnerability, curiosity—and then it ends in loss."
"Not always."
He gave a hollow laugh. "Always."
Ariana stepped closer, close enough to feel his breath.
"I don't want to break you," she said softly. "I just want to know you."
His hands flexed at his sides. "You're getting too close."
"You keep letting me."
His eyes flicked to hers. "And that's the problem."
Their gazes locked.
Seconds passed.
Then Leo stepped back, closing himself off again.
"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly. "This conversation never happened."
He walked out before she could reply.
Ariana stood alone in the study, the weight of the photo still lingering like a ghost between them.
---
The next morning, Leo was gone by the time she woke.
Ariana moved through the penthouse in a daze. The night before had shaken something loose inside her.
Leo's story.
His grief.
His fear of closeness—how it wasn't rooted in arrogance, but in pain.
She wandered into the kitchen to find a note on the counter in his sharp, scrawled handwriting.
Gone early. Meetings. Dinner tonight—black dress. - L
She touched the note briefly, then tucked it into her sketchpad.
---
That evening, a black gown hung in her closet.
Simple, elegant, perfectly tailored.
A pair of diamond drop earrings sat beside it, along with a pair of strappy heels that matched her size exactly.
The message was clear.
Play the part.
She dressed in silence, curling her hair and applying subtle makeup. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, even she had to admit she looked like she belonged in Leo's world.
But nothing about this felt pretend anymore.
She couldn't tell where the act ended and the emotion began.
---
The car picked her up at 7:30 sharp.
Leo was already inside, in a perfectly tailored black suit and white shirt, no tie. He looked devastating. Powerful.
Untouchable.
He glanced at her as she slid in beside him.
"You look—"
"Don't say 'appropriate,'" she warned.
His mouth twitched. "Beautiful."
She froze.
He looked away, as if he hadn't just disarmed her with a single word.
They rode in silence after that.
But the air between them was electric.
---
The event was a charity gala in Midtown—rooftop venue, glass walls, music floating like perfume in the air.
Leo introduced her to shareholders, investors, CEOs. She smiled, nodded, played the role flawlessly.
But the moment that caught her breath was when his hand settled on the small of her back—firm, possessive, steady.
He wasn't just playing.
Not anymore.
Neither was she.
At one point, they stood by the balcony, watching the lights of the city stretch out like a jeweled sea.
"This is exhausting," she whispered.
Leo nodded. "You're doing well."
She turned toward him. "You don't have to compliment me."
"I'm not."
She raised a brow.
"I'm telling you the truth."
Something in his eyes lingered too long.
Something that looked like need.
Then a flashbulb went off—a camera.
Ariana instinctively leaned closer, and Leo's arm tightened around her waist.
For a second, they weren't acting.
They were just... there.
Together.
---
Back in the penthouse, silence wrapped around them again.
They stood by the elevator, neither moving.
"Do you want a drink?" Leo asked.
She nodded.
They walked to the kitchen together. He poured two glasses of red wine, handed her one.
She sipped it slowly, watching him over the rim.
"You did well tonight," he said.
"I think I deserve a raise."
He smirked.
Then silence fell again.
But it wasn't awkward.
It was charged.
Ariana set her glass down.
"Leo."
He looked up.
"I know we said no touching. No lines crossed. But…"
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
Because the next moment, he stepped forward.
And kissed her.
Not like a boss, or a man fulfilling a contract.
But like someone who'd been starving for too long.
It wasn't rushed or hesitant.
It was deep.
Real.
And it shattered everything they'd built as barriers.
---
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Leo touched her cheek with a gentleness she hadn't expected from a man so controlled.
"This changes things," he said hoarsely.
Ariana nodded.
"I know."
Neither moved.
The world had shifted.
And they both knew—
There was no going back.
---