The day after the wedding, the Grand Beaumont felt like a ghost town. Elara returned to drop off a forgotten set of keys, her flats clicking against the marble floor that she had spent half the night protecting. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest that she usually filled with more work.
"I wondered if you'd come back for a victory lap."
The voice came from the lounge. Julian was there, looking entirely too comfortable in a velvet armchair, a book resting face-down on his knee. He looked different in the daylight—less like a shadow, more like a storm that had finally made landfall.
"I'm just finishing a job, Julian," Elara said, stopping her pace.
"The job is over. The bridge is crossed. The hill is conquered," he said, standing up. He didn't walk toward her so much as he glided, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back. "Now comes the part where you actually live. Or do you only exist to make sure other people are happy?"
"I'm happy when things are done right."
Julian tilted his head, a stray lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. "No. You're satisfied when things are done right. There's a difference. Satisfaction is a chore. Happiness is a thrill."
Before she could argue, he reached out and took the keys from her hand, dropping them onto a nearby table without looking. "Forget the keys. I have something to show you."
"I have a shift at the gallery in an hour," she protested, but her feet were already following him.
He led her out to the parking lot, where a vintage motorcycle sat gleaming in the sun. It looked out of place among the luxury SUVs—raw, loud, and dangerous. Julian hopped on and tossed her a spare helmet.
"Where are we going?" Elara asked, her heart beginning to thump against her ribs.
"To see the world from a different angle," Julian said, his eyes flashing with that dark brightness she remembered from the balcony. "Unless you're afraid of a little wind, Anchor."
She shouldn't have done it. It was impulsive. It was reckless. But the way he said Anchor made it sound like a challenge, a weight he wanted to help her lift. She slid onto the seat behind him, her hands hovering uncertainly at his waist.
"Hold on tight, Elara," he murmured, the engine roaring to life beneath them. "I don't plan on going slow."
As they tore out of the parking lot, the city became a blur of gray and green. For the first time in years, Elara wasn't looking for problems to fix. She couldn't fix the wind. She couldn't fix the speed. She could only hold onto Julian, her fingers digging into the leather of his jacket.
They wound up a narrow, curving road that led to the highest point in the county—a jagged cliffside known locally as The Peak. When Julian finally cut the engine, the silence that followed was deafening.
They stood at the very edge, the entire valley spread out below them like a map of a life she suddenly felt she had outgrown.
"Look at them," Julian said, gesturing to the tiny cars and houses below. "Everyone down there is scurrying around, terrified of making a mistake. Terrified of falling. But up here?" He stepped even closer to the ledge, his toes hanging over the drop. "Up here, the only thing that matters is how much you're willing to see."
Elara watched him, her breath catching. He looked so free, so untethered. She felt a surge of something she couldn't name—a mixture of terror and absolute envy.
"Don't go too far," she whispered.
Julian turned back to her, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He reached out, his thumb brushing her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw.
"That's your problem, Elara. You're always worried about the fall," he said softly. "But the thrill isn't in the landing. It's in the moment you decide to stay on the edge."
In that moment, under the blazing sun, Elara felt the first shift in her foundation. She didn't realize that he wasn't inviting her to fly; he was inviting her to watch him play with the gravity of her life.
She felt the hook sink in, deep and permanent. She was starting to like the height. She was starting to love the hill.