The scent of citrus and sea salt clung to the breeze as the sun lowered over the Caribbean horizon, spilling golden light across the grand courtyard of the estate. The evening's networking party was in full swing—an opulent, outdoor affair set beneath strings of Edison bulbs and arching palms. Jazz floated in the air. Waiters moved between clusters of guests with silver trays and practiced ease. Champagne flutes clinked. Conversations hummed.
Ariana Blake stood near the edge of the gathering, her hand curled loosely around a glass of sparkling rosé, though she hadn't taken more than a single sip.
Her strapless jade-green dress—courtesy of a stylist Leo insisted on hiring for this trip—hugged her figure elegantly, brushing the tops of her heels. Her long dark hair was pulled to one side in cascading waves, exposing the sharp line of her collarbone.
She looked the part: sophisticated, unbothered, poised.
She didn't feel it.
Not after the last two days.
Not after Leo's kiss.
And definitely not after the emotional cold front that followed it.
He was nearby now, somewhere across the courtyard, locked in conversation with a hedge fund CEO and a Saudi oil heir. She hadn't spoken to him since last night's argument.
And as far as she could tell, he hadn't noticed her silence.
Not until now.
"May I?"
The voice came from her right—charming, smooth, and unfamiliar.
Ariana turned to find a man smiling at her. Early thirties, probably, with tousled blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. He wore a light linen suit with no tie and carried the relaxed confidence of someone used to being adored.
"I'm Carter Hayes," he said. "VC. San Francisco. And you—are absolutely stunning."
She blinked. "That's… forward."
"Honesty is underrated."
She gave a polite smile. "Ariana Blake."
"Ah, the mysterious fiancée." His eyes twinkled. "I've heard a lot."
"I'm sure you have," she said dryly.
He chuckled, clearly not deterred. "Leo Cross rarely brings anyone to events like these. People are… curious."
She sipped her rosé. "Curiosity is dangerous."
"Then I'm already in trouble."
He stepped a little closer. Not inappropriate, but undeniably bold.
Across the courtyard, Leo turned.
From behind his glass, he watched—expression unreadable.
Ariana noticed.
Carter noticed too.
He smirked. "Looks like someone's watching."
"Let him."
"Rebellious. I like that."
Before she could respond, Carter reached out, gently brushing a stray hair from her shoulder.
Innocent.
Barely a touch.
But enough.
A second later, Leo was there.
He moved like a storm—quiet but undeniable. His six-foot-two frame cut through the crowd with precision, tailored black suit sharp against the tropical glow of the evening. His presence sucked the air out of the space between them.
He didn't greet Carter.
Didn't smile.
Just placed a firm hand on the small of Ariana's back.
"Everything okay?" Leo asked, voice smooth—but laced with steel.
Carter chuckled. "More than okay. Just getting to know your lovely fiancée."
Leo's gaze flicked to his hand. Still resting on Ariana. Still warm.
"Is that right?" Leo asked, eyes narrowing.
Ariana said nothing.
Carter held up both hands. "Relax, man. Just talking."
Leo stepped forward. One inch. Two. Just enough to close the space.
He leaned in, his words quiet but razor-sharp. "She's not a conversation piece. And she's definitely not your type."
Carter raised a brow. "And what is her type?"
Leo's eyes darkened. "Not you."
A beat passed.
Carter smiled slowly. "Well. Message received."
He turned to Ariana, dipped his head. "Pleasure meeting you."
Then he was gone.
The silence that followed buzzed with tension.
Ariana turned to Leo, arms crossed. "What was that?"
He didn't move his hand. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."
"I wasn't yours to be looked at."
"You're mine in the eyes of the world."
"Not behind closed doors."
His jaw flexed. "Do you want him?"
She blinked. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
He didn't answer.
So she leaned in, voice low and furious. "You kiss me. You shut me out. And now you act jealous when someone else shows me attention?"
Leo's expression didn't budge. "He was disrespectful."
"No," she said. "He was bold. You're the one playing games."
Leo's hand dropped from her back.
She didn't wait for a reply.
She walked away—shoulders high, head held like steel.
---
Later that night, Ariana stood alone on the balcony of their suite, barefoot in a silk robe, hair loose and tangled from sea air.
The stars were clear overhead.
The moonlit sea stretched endlessly below.
And inside, the silence between them was heavier than ever.
She heard the door open behind her.
Leo stepped out, quiet as always.
He wore loose black lounge pants and a white T-shirt that clung to his chest, casual and devastating. His sleeves pushed up, revealing the watch she'd once teased him for sleeping in.
"I overreacted," he said finally.
Ariana didn't look at him. "Yeah. You did."
He joined her at the railing.
Said nothing for a moment.
Then: "When I saw his hand on you, I wanted to break something."
Her laugh was bitter. "Because of pride. Or possession?"
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he asked, "Do you want me to stop?"
She turned to face him. "Stop what?"
"This," he said. "Whatever this is."
A long pause.
Then she said, "I want you to start being honest. With yourself. With me."
His throat worked.
"I'm not good at… this."
"I'm not asking for romance, Leo. I'm asking for clarity."
He nodded slowly. "I can try."
She stepped closer. Close enough to touch—but didn't.
"I'm not going to wait forever."
He met her eyes. "You won't have to."
The words weren't a promise.
But they weren't empty either.
They stood there, side by side, staring out into the moonlight, neither one speaking.
But maybe—for the first time—they were listening.
---