Shane
The Zeva rolled smoothly into the underground parking of Isla's condo at exactly eight o'clock.
Right on time.
Shane cut the engine and leaned back for a second, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. The day had been long—meetings stacked on meetings—but the moment he thought of her, the weight eased. Tonight was theirs.
He stepped out, dressed just as he'd planned: black Tom Ford button-down, sleeves neatly pressed, dark trousers tailored to perfection, watch catching the soft glow of the lights. Calm. Controlled. Ready.
The elevator doors opened moments later.
Isla stepped out, and his breath caught without permission.
The black polo gown hugged her effortlessly, knee-length and elegant, paired with her loafers and small purse resting against her side. Her honey-brown hair framed her face softly, makeup minimal, confidence natural. She looked like she belonged to the night.
"Princess," he said, voice low.
She smiled, tired but warm. "Pookie."
He closed the distance immediately, wrapping his arms around her. The hug lingered longer than necessary, familiar and grounding. He pressed a kiss to her lips—soft, restrained, meaningful.
"Long day?" he asked.
"The longest," she replied, smiling into him.
He opened the passenger door for her, hand steady as she slipped inside. Once they were on the road, Auckland unfolded around them—quiet streets, city lights reflecting off glass and water.
LÉROIR sat high above the city, discreet and intentional. Leroy's place. Exclusive. The kind of restaurant where privacy wasn't requested—it was understood.
Their private rooftop booth waited for them.
Dinner was light. Easy. Shared glances, soft laughter, fingers brushing across the table. Stories from work, teasing remarks, the kind of conversation that only happens when two people know each other deeply.
Midway through, Isla's phone buzzed.
Spain.
They video-called Trevor together. His small face filled the screen, sleep-heavy eyes brightening at the sight of them.
"Mommy," he said softly.
Shane leaned closer, arm resting behind Isla as they slipped into gentle voices—promises, reassurances, love spoken carefully but fully.
When the call ended, silence settled between them, charged and unhurried.
Shane's fingers found her thigh as they stood to leave, a quiet claim, nothing rushed. Isla glanced up at him, smile knowing.
The drive to his house was calm, city lights blurring past. His hand rested comfortably on her leg, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.
Tonight wasn't about hiding.
It was about choosing each other—again.