Rain pattered against the wide glass windows of Leo's penthouse, rhythmic and persistent, casting a soft, bluish hue over the sprawling interior. The city lights blurred behind the mist, creating a dreamy, hazy skyline that seemed far away from the tension pressing in between two people inside the sleek, quiet living room.
Ariana Blake sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a mug of tea cooling on the coffee table in front of her. The silk robe Leo's assistant had laid out for her after the press conference earlier still clung softly to her figure, deep emerald green against her warm-toned skin. Her auburn hair, freshly washed, spilled over one shoulder in waves, and her hazel eyes tracked the slow movement of the rain outside, though her mind was anything but calm.
Across from her, Leonardo Maddox Cross leaned back in a low armchair, his six-foot-three frame relaxed in posture but taut beneath the surface. His charcoal lounge pants and black cashmere sweater looked soft, effortless, but his expression—sharp jawline, focused dark brown eyes, furrowed brows—spoke of a man who was anything but at ease.
They hadn't spoken much since the press conference.
Leo had made a declaration the world wouldn't forget, and Ariana… she hadn't quite figured out how to react.
She glanced at him now.
He was watching her.
Not casually. Not with the polite interest of someone trapped in a room with another person they were legally contracted to pretend to love.
No. This gaze was something else entirely.
Something intimate.
She looked away quickly, heart skipping.
Leo stood up.
The motion drew her eyes back to him before she could stop herself. His height always startled her, the way he moved with a precision that made silence feel loud.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, voice low.
Ariana nodded, suddenly breathless.
"Why didn't you ask me to retract the engagement when this whole mess started?"
She blinked. "What?"
"You had every right. You were being accused. Publicly harassed. Most people would've walked away."
She considered that for a long moment. "Because I made a commitment. And whether or not people believe that, I do."
He took another step closer. "Even if I didn't protect you right away?"
Ariana hesitated. "You protected me today."
Leo nodded slowly. "It wasn't enough."
"It was," she whispered.
The silence between them shifted. Thickened. Electricity hummed in the space like a charged wire.
Leo moved again, this time standing just in front of the couch. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable, but there was something raw in his eyes. Something stripped of calculation.
"I haven't trusted anyone in a long time," he said quietly. "And I'm not used to... saying things I don't fully understand."
Ariana looked up at him, lips parting.
"So when I said you were the one person I trust…" He exhaled. "It wasn't just for the press."
She stood now, rising until they were inches apart. The world beyond the windows faded to gray. Inside, time felt suspended.
"I didn't think you were lying," she said, voice trembling. "I just didn't know if you meant it the way I needed you to."
Leo's throat worked. "And how's that?"
"I needed it to be real," she said. "Not convenient. Not strategic. Real."
For the first time, he looked shaken.
And then—without thinking, without blinking—he leaned in.
His hand came up, fingers brushing her jaw, tracing the edge of her cheek. It was light. Barely there. Like he was asking permission. Like he wasn't sure he deserved to touch her.
Ariana didn't move.
Their breaths mingled.
The distance between their lips shrank to a hair's breadth.
And then—
Leo stopped.
His brows drew together. His jaw tensed. The fingers at her cheek fell away slowly.
He stepped back.
Ariana blinked, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
"You stopped," she whispered.
"I know," he said hoarsely.
"Why?"
Leo looked away, pain etched across his features. "Because if I kiss you now, it won't be fake. It won't be part of the deal. And I'm not sure we're ready for that."
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her lungs weren't working right.
Leo turned, walking toward the large window that framed the rainy skyline. He stood there, tall and brooding, like a statue carved from guilt and longing.
Ariana stood frozen. The place his fingers had touched still burned.
That almost-kiss had said more than any of their contract terms. More than their dinners or shared silences. It had unzipped something inside her chest—and left it bare.
"I should go to bed," she said softly.
Leo didn't turn.
"Goodnight, Ariana."
Her name on his lips made her flinch.
She left the room without another word.
---
Ariana's room was dim and cool when she stepped inside. The sheets on the king-sized bed were turned down neatly, a glass of water on the nightstand. Everything about this place screamed luxury and distance. Nothing about it felt like home.
She changed into one of the oversized sleep shirts she'd brought from her old apartment—frayed, comfortable, real.
But her mind was still in that living room.
His eyes, his touch, the way he stopped himself.
Why did it hurt more that he didn't kiss her?
She lay in bed, but sleep didn't come. Only the ghost of what could've happened. What almost did.
---
Across the penthouse, Leo stood alone in the dark, the rain still falling behind him.
His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched like he was at war with himself.
She had looked at him like she wanted it. She had leaned into him. Her lips had parted.
But he'd seen the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, the quiet uncertainty. He couldn't exploit that. Not when she was already caught in this strange limbo of public love and private doubt.
If he kissed her now, he wouldn't be able to undo it.
He didn't know how to love someone halfway. And that scared the hell out of him.
He turned off the lights and walked to his own bedroom, the emptiness of the space suddenly colder than usual.
And despite being in one of the most expensive homes in the country, Leo Maddox Cross had never felt so alone.
---