The deed sat on her table like a question she hadn't answered yet.
Selena's fingers traced the edge of the black envelope Julian had left behind, inside was the paperwork — the proof. Ten thousand square feet of possibility, no branding, no contract, no Wolfe Global logo printed in the margins.
Just her name.
Selena Hart.
It didn't come with a press release. It wasn't a stunt, it hadn't even come with flowers.
Just him.
Julian sat across from her now in the quiet studio, back straight, hands folded in his lap. The air smelled of coffee and faint lavender from the candles Maya insisted on lighting every day.
He wasn't cold this time.
Not sharp, not armored.
Just present.
She studied him. Not the tailored exterior — but the way he looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. The slight crease in his shirt, the way his eyes searched her face for something he didn't know how to ask.
"It's not enough," she said finally, breaking the silence.
Julian's eyes didn't flinch. "I know."
"A building doesn't undo everything."
He nodded. "It's not supposed to."
There was something honest in his voice, not rehearsed, not polished. Just… honest.
She inhaled slowly.
"But," she added, "I'm willing to see what else does."
He blinked.
And something like hope flickered behind his eyes — not a spark, not a flare, just the gentle kind that waits quietly not to be crushed.
Selena stood and walked over to the window. The sun was setting, casting long amber streaks across the floor, below them, the city moved on — cars, people, noise — the way it always did.
And yet something had changed.
They were starting again.
Not lovers.
Not business partners.
Just… two people. Two damaged, once-mirrored souls, standing on the edge of something neither of them could quite define.
And for now, that was enough.
The new campaign launched two weeks later.
Selena Hart Beauty.
Fully owned, fully hers.
The packaging was clean, bold. Earth-toned, rooted in identity and story. No sleek billion-dollar overlays, no glossy PR stunts, just skin, real skin, real women.
And Julian?
Was nowhere in the photos.
No romantic speculation, no whispered leaks, no behind-the-scenes chemistry captured by paparazzi.
He didn't ask for credit, he didn't insert himself.
He stood behind the scenes silent and steady.
Backing her not branding her.
And that, more than any deed or apology started to mean something.
The intimacy grew slowly.
It wasn't built on grand gestures now but on small ones.
He sent her coffee when she forgot to eat.
She texted him progress shots of her product labels and asked for honest feedback.
They fought sometimes, they disagreed.
But this time, no one walked away in silence.
They kept showing up — not for the business, not for appearances — but for each other.
And eventually, the awkwardness dissolved into something soft.
One night, Selena was alone in the studio.
The rain tapped gently on the windows, the city outside muffled and peaceful. She was standing at the display counter reorganizing product samples — her tinted moisturizer line had just gone viral on TikTok and demand was outpacing supply.
She didn't notice the door open.
But she felt him before she saw him.
Julian stepped in quietly, his presence familiar now, no longer sharp-edged.
"You rearranged the blush display," he said casually.
She didn't turn. "It was bugging me."
He walked closer. "You know you don't need me anymore."
This time she turned.
Selena looked at him, eyes soft but steady.
"No," she said. "I don't."
A pause.
"But I want you here anyway."
Something unspoken passed between them, not heat, not fire, something older, deeper. The kind of emotion that doesn't roar — it roots.
Julian stepped closer.
And kissed her.
No campaign.
No motive.
No script.
Just lips against lips, quiet, honest.
And this time — she kissed him back.
Not because she needed to.
But because she wanted to.