The morning after the almost-kiss was quiet. Too quiet.
Ariana Blake walked into the kitchen of the penthouse, barefoot on the cool marble floors, her robe tied loosely at the waist. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a messy knot, shadows of sleeplessness beneath her hazel eyes. Her usually warm skin tone looked paler under the soft morning light that filtered in through the tall windows.
Everything in the space gleamed—sleek black countertops, matte gold fixtures, the scent of dark roast coffee already filling the air. But it felt sterile. Tense.
Leo wasn't there.
Not in the kitchen. Not seated with his usual tablet, reviewing reports like a machine in a man's skin. Not glancing up with his casual, unreadable smirk. Not saying her name in that low voice that had started to chip away at the defenses she swore she'd never lower again.
She opened the fridge and stared into it without purpose.
He'd kissed her—almost. And stopped. And now? Avoidance. Silence. Ice.
And it was messing with her.
She grabbed a yogurt, closed the door harder than necessary, and walked out to the terrace. The early Manhattan sky stretched above her, bruised with faint clouds, the sounds of the city just beginning to rise below.
She sat at the wrought iron table in the corner, overlooking the skyline. The wind played gently with the hem of her robe.
And still, she couldn't stop replaying last night.
The way he had looked at her. The way his fingers had trembled slightly against her skin. The way he'd stopped like he was afraid that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.
It hadn't been cold.
It had been too real.
And that's what terrified her.
---
Leo sat in the back of his town car, silent as the engine hummed beneath him.
He was already dressed—custom navy suit, crisp white shirt, navy tie loosened slightly at the collar. His dark hair was slicked back, though a single strand had fallen over his forehead, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble.
His assistant, Naomi, sat beside him, tablet in hand, firing off morning updates.
"Board is pushing for a statement by Friday. Investors are still spooked from the leak. The legal team narrowed it down to two potential sources—someone inside a PR sub-firm or..." She hesitated.
Leo glanced at her, his sharp gaze enough to cut steel. "Say it."
"Or someone with access to your inner circle. Including Ariana."
He didn't blink. "It wasn't her."
Naomi's lips pressed into a line. "She's not officially cleared yet."
"I don't care."
He looked away, jaw ticking. The words were more than a defense—they were instinctive. Automatic. Truth he wasn't used to speaking.
Naomi studied him for a moment longer, then tapped her tablet and changed the subject.
But Leo's mind stayed fixed on Ariana.
The way her voice had caught when she said, "I needed it to be real."
The way her eyes had softened, open, unguarded.
And the way he'd pulled back—not to protect himself, but to protect her.
He couldn't afford for things to blur.
But they already had.
---
Back at the penthouse, Ariana was curled up on the couch in leggings and a T-shirt now, sketchpad in her lap. Her pencil danced across the paper, creating soft outlines of a studio concept she'd been thinking about—open shelving, natural wood, soft light. It was modern but warm. Structured but gentle.
Just like him.
She cursed under her breath and tossed the pencil down.
Her phone buzzed.
A video call.
Taylor.
Ariana tapped accept and was greeted with her best friend's bright face on screen, wild curls tied back and glasses perched on her nose.
"Well, you look like someone who didn't sleep," Taylor said, grinning. "What happened? Did the Trillionaire finally crack and confess his undying love?"
Ariana snorted. "More like… almost kissed me and then walked away like I was a wrong password."
Taylor blinked. "Wait—he almost kissed you? As in, leaned in, lips-close, breath-sharing, emotional-eye-contact kiss?"
"Exactly that."
"And then bailed?"
Ariana nodded, biting her lip.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. "He likes you."
"No, he doesn't. He's... conflicted. Calculated. Emotionally constipated."
"Emotionally constipated trillionaires don't nearly kiss girls and then spiral into silence."
"He didn't spiral."
"Girl, you're calling me at ten in the morning in a robe, sketching buildings with angst. He spiraled, you spiraled. It's a dual spiral."
Ariana couldn't help it—she laughed. And the tension in her chest cracked, just slightly.
Taylor's voice softened. "Listen… if this is becoming more than what you agreed to, you need to know where he stands. Because I know you. And I know your heart doesn't do half-measures."
Ariana nodded, her smile fading. "Yeah. I know."
After they ended the call, she sat in silence for a long time.
Lines were blurring. Feelings, growing. And if she wasn't careful, she'd fall—hard.
And she wasn't sure Leo would catch her.
---
Leo returned late.
The sun had already dipped behind the city, casting shadows across the penthouse. Ariana was seated at the dining table, eating quietly. The scent of roasted vegetables and garlic lingered in the air. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore a simple cream blouse and jeans—effortless, beautiful, grounded in a way his world rarely allowed.
He paused in the doorway.
She looked up, meeting his gaze.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then she spoke. "Hi."
Leo cleared his throat. "Hi."
Silence.
She broke it again, voice calm but direct. "So are we going to talk about it?"
He knew what she meant.
He walked forward slowly, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a chair. His expression was unreadable as he poured himself a glass of water.
Then he sat across from her.
"Yes," he said finally. "Let's talk."
She leaned back, folding her arms. "You almost kissed me."
"I know."
"And then you didn't."
His jaw tightened. "I thought it would make things complicated."
"It already is complicated."
His fingers tapped the glass.
"I didn't stop because I didn't want to. I stopped because I did," he said finally. "Because if I kissed you, Ariana, it wouldn't be part of the arrangement. And I wasn't sure if that was fair to you."
Her heart thudded. "You think I don't know the difference between pretend and real?"
"No. I think I'm not used to being real. And I don't want to… mess this up."
She stared at him. The mask was cracking. Beneath it, a man who didn't know how to handle the chaos of emotion.
He wasn't just cold. He was careful.
And maybe afraid.
"I'm not asking you to fall in love with me," she said softly. "But don't pretend you feel nothing. I'm not stupid."
His eyes lifted, dark and intense. "I never thought you were."
Silence.
Ariana rose slowly. "I'm going to bed."
Leo nodded once. "Goodnight."
But before she turned away, she looked over her shoulder.
"Leo?"
He met her eyes.
"Next time you want to kiss me... maybe don't stop."
And with that, she walked to her room, leaving him alone with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
He didn't sleep much that night.
Because Ariana Blake, with her wild heart and steady hands, was already in his head.
And maybe, just maybe, under his skin.
---