Waking up the next morning felt strange—not because of the sunlight pouring into the bedroom or the quiet hum of the city rising—but because something inside me had shifted.
Last night, I'd asked Blake to be my friend.
Even saying the word in my mind felt absurd. Blake Aldridge—my rival, my arranged husband, my silent opponent—was now someone I was actively choosing to open a door to. Slowly. Carefully. But willingly.
As I stretched and rolled out of bed, I didn't feel triumphant. I didn't feel regretful either. I felt... curious. And for the first time in a while, I didn't brace myself for war when I thought of him.
The room felt lighter, as if the tension we'd been breathing in for weeks had finally thinned. I walked to the vanity where the brooch Evelyn gave me still sat. Next to it, the velvet box she had presented during tea. Symbols of a family I was beginning to understand—not just through legacy, but through people.
Sarah met me in the kitchen, her ever-organized self already dressed in her neutral-toned blouse, tablet in hand. "Your calendar is light today. Evelyn confirmed the flower committee meeting for noon, and your stylist has blocked off two hours in the afternoon."
I took the coffee she handed me. "That's manageable."
She paused. "You seem... better today."
"I had a conversation with Blake last night," I said slowly. "We agreed to try something different."
Her brows lifted subtly. "Different how?"
"Friendship."
Sarah blinked. "Like actual friendship?"
"As actual as it can be under the circumstances."
She didn't smile, but I saw the relief in her eyes. "That could change things."
I nodded, sipping the coffee. It already had.
Later, while reviewing proposals from the PR team for an upcoming fundraiser, my mind wandered. The house was unusually quiet. Blake had left earlier, his usual note on the counter: Meeting with Charles. Lunch with the tech team. Call me if anything urgent comes up.
It was impersonal, yes, but it wasn't cold. And now, in the context of our newfound truce, I wondered if it was his way of giving me space. Or maybe his way of showing respect. I wasn't sure yet.
I caught myself reading the same paragraph three times. My focus had dissolved into a pool of wondering.
Did he mean what he said?
Would this friendship hold when cameras turned off and expectations shifted again?
Around noon, Evelyn arrived at the estate's community garden, where the wedding floral team had gathered to finalize bloom selections for an upcoming event. I was supposed to represent the Cater-Aldridge side of things—an odd pairing of power and petals.
"You look brighter today," Evelyn said gently, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat as we walked along the garden path.
"I had a good night," I replied honestly.
She smiled knowingly. "Did Blake have anything to do with it?"
I raised an eyebrow. "He agreed to something I asked."
"And what was that?"
"Friendship."
Evelyn's smile deepened, this time with warmth. "That's a beautiful place to start."
I nodded, but a part of me still felt cautious. Friendship was a fragile concept. One built on honesty and effort, both of which had been in short supply between us until recently.
The meeting moved quickly. Dahlias were selected over roses. Hydrangeas vetoed for being too ordinary. And I realized somewhere in between color palettes and stem arrangements, that I felt... steady. Not powerful, not threatened. Just steady.
Afterward, Evelyn walked me back to the car. "One step at a time, dear," she said softly. "And don't be afraid to let kindness surprise you."
I tucked that thought away like a seed.
When I returned to the penthouse, the late afternoon sun was turning the skyline gold. I stepped inside and paused. Blake was already home.
He looked up from the kitchen island, where two glasses of iced tea were waiting.
"Truce refreshments?" I asked.
He smirked slightly. "You could say that."
I set my bag down and joined him, and for the first time, we sat in silence that wasn't loaded with resentment or obligation.
It was something else entirely.
And I didn't hate it.
"What did the floral team decide?" he asked, making an effort.
"Dahlias and lisianthus. They wanted to balance classic elegance with soft touches."
He nodded. "Sounds like Evelyn's influence."
"She always has an opinion," I said with a small smile.
"She always has wisdom," he corrected gently.
I looked at him. There was a softness in his tone that hadn't been there before. Or maybe I just hadn't noticed it.
"Did Charles give you a lecture this morning?" I teased.
"Only about patience."
I laughed quietly, and for once, it wasn't strained.
After dinner, we ended up on the balcony—he with his drink, I with mine. The city stretched around us like an echo of our shared history. A war zone turned neutral ground.
"Celine," he said quietly. "I'm glad you asked for friendship."
I turned my gaze toward him. "Why?"
"Because it means you're not giving up on us. Even if you still don't know what 'us' is."
I didn't respond immediately. The word 'us' was still fragile in my mouth.
But I nodded.
And that, for now, was enough.