Safe With You

Back To Normal

~Alyssa~

The first thing I notice when I pull into the AQ car park is how whole it looks again.

No shattered glass, no police tape, no heavy silence — just my building gleaming under the morning sun. The white marble sparkles, the black stone accents glint in the light, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

AQ is mine again. My empire, my safe space.

Elle’s waiting in reception, two coffees in hand and a grin that could power London.

“Boss lady’s back in the building!”

I take one cup and arch a brow. “You do realise you sound like my hype woman, right?”

“Someone’s got to,” she says, linking her arm through mine as she walks me to the lift. “Oh, and Mr Riley texted. Said, ‘Don’t let her forget lunch.’”

I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth betray me. “He’s getting bossier by the day.”

“Protective,” Elle corrects, smirking. “You like it.”

I press the button for the top floor and take a sip of coffee. “Don’t you have spreadsheets to terrorise?”

“On it,” she says sweetly, skipping away.

When I open my office door, a wave of familiarity hits. Everything gleams. My curtains are replaced, my glass desk spotless, and in the centre sits a vase of fresh white roses with a card that simply reads: Welcome home, boss.

I smile — Elle, obviously.

Dropping my bag on the sofa, I scan my schedule. The day looks packed… until I notice a gap mid-afternoon. Perfect.

My phone’s already in my hand before I think twice.

A: Morning, Mr Riley. Any chance you can bring your mum and sister in today for fittings? Had a cancellation.

G: Today? You don’t waste time, do you, Miss Rose?

A: Never have. Can you make it?

G: Savannah’s free. Lillian’s pretending to revise. We’ll be there in two hours.

A: Excellent. Try not to be late. I’m far scarier than any deadline.

G: Somehow, I don’t doubt that.

I set the phone down, smiling to myself, and head down to the design floor.

~Greyson~

Mum’s already pacing the foyer when I come downstairs.

“Darling, does this blouse say professional elegance or trying too hard?”

“Mum, you look perfect.”

She twirls once. “It’s Alyssa Rose, Greyson. I’m not turning up in something that screams comfortable pensioner.”

“Comfortable pensioner?” Lillian laughs from the staircase. “You look like the queen of Harrods.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now brush your hair properly.”

The next half-hour is a blur of curling irons, perfume, and Lillian changing her outfit three times before finally settling on a soft blue dress.

By the time we reach AQ, the building seems to radiate sophistication — and nerves hit me like a punch.

“Bloody hell,” Lillian murmurs. “It’s like walking into Vogue.”

“Language,” Savannah warns automatically.

Elle greets us with her usual warmth and leads us to a private fitting suite.

Then I see her.

Alyssa.

Her black-and-red hair is swept up in a loose twist, a few strands tumbling down to frame her face. She’s in black high-waisted trousers and a slate-grey silk blouse that gleams under the soft light. Effortless power and poise.

“Mum, Lillian — this is Alyssa,” I say, trying to sound normal.

Savannah takes her hand warmly. “My dear, what a pleasure. I’ve admired your work for years.”

Lillian looks ready to faint. “You’re even prettier in person,” she blurts.

Alyssa laughs, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, love. Come on, let’s get started.”

Watching her work is a quiet kind of magic.

She moves with purpose — pinning fabric, adjusting seams, coaxing both my mother and sister into confidence they didn’t know they had. Savannah lights up, Lillian relaxes, and the room hums with gentle chatter and laughter.

Then Alyssa says, “Now, Lillian, I’ve something special to show you.”

From the garment rack, she pulls out a dress bag. “Remember the sketches we did together? I’ve been working on this in my spare time.”

Lillian blinks. “You made it already?”

Alyssa unzips the bag, revealing a gown that glows in the light — a soft champagne hue, shimmering beadwork cascading from the bodice to a gentle A-line skirt. It’s delicate, timeless. Her.

Lillian gasps. “You really made this… for me?”

Alyssa nods. “Try it on, love. Let’s see how it moves.”

Minutes later, Lillian steps out from behind the curtain — and everyone goes still.

Savannah’s eyes well immediately. “Oh, darling.”

Alyssa beams. “Turn slowly for me, sweetheart.”

The dress catches the light perfectly. Lillian looks at her reflection, disbelieving. “I’ve never felt this pretty before.”

Alyssa adjusts a strap and smiles softly. “You’ve always been this pretty, Lillian. The dress just finally caught up.”

That’s all it takes — Lillian flings herself into Alyssa’s arms.

Savannah dabs at her eyes. “You’ve made her year, dear.”

Alyssa chuckles. “Well, I can’t have her showing up to prom in anything less than perfect.”

When Lillian finally stops twirling, Alyssa disappears behind her desk and returns with a glossy white box.

“Every great dress deserves the right shoes,” she says, handing it over.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, are a pair of designer heels — champagne satin with subtle diamanté detailing that matches the gown.

Lillian gasps so loud Savannah jumps. “Are these… for me?”

Alyssa nods. “Limited edition, custom fit. Consider them my gift.”

“Mum, they’re Alyssa Rose originals!” Lillian squeals.

Savannah looks like she might cry again. “You can’t possibly—”

“I can,” Alyssa interrupts softly. “She’s worked hard, she deserves to shine.”

Lillian hugs her again. “You’re the best, Alyssa.”

“Just don’t tell Elle,” Alyssa whispers conspiratorially. “She’ll start asking for shoes too.”

They all laugh, and the sound fills the room like sunlight.

Once Mum and Lillian have drifted to admire the dress on the mannequin, I step close to Alyssa.

“You’re extraordinary, you know that?” I murmur.

She arches a brow. “Flattery again, Mr Riley?”

“Observation,” I counter.

She smiles faintly but doesn’t move away when I slide my hand to her waist.

“Greyson,” she whispers, glancing at my family.

“I know,” I murmur, brushing my lips against her hair. “But I’ve missed you.”

Before she can scold me, I kiss the spot just below her ear.

Right on cue, Savannah clears her throat. “Honestly, darling. We’re right here.”

Alyssa goes crimson, I step back like a teenager caught sneaking out. Lillian’s laughing so hard she’s nearly doubled over.

“Mum—”

Savannah waves a hand, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh, don’t look so guilty. It’s nice seeing you happy.”

“Mum!”

Alyssa groans. “I am never living this down.”

“Correct,” Lillian giggles. “I’ve already taken photos.”

Savannah pats Alyssa’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s sweet. You suit each other.”

Alyssa’s cheeks stay scarlet. “Thank you, Mrs Riley. I’ll just… finish these measurements.”

“Savannah, please,” Mum corrects warmly.

Later, as we escort them towards the car, I pull both my mother and sister aside.

“All right,” I say quietly, “before you even think about gossiping—”

“Too late,” Lillian teases.

I sigh. “I’m serious. What’s happening between me and Alyssa stays between us. No teasing, no telling anyone, not even Winston. Understand?”

Savannah folds her arms, suppressing a grin. “You think we’re that indiscreet?”

“Yes,” Lillian and I say together.

Mum chuckles. “Fine, fine. Secret’s safe — though I will expect details eventually.”

“Not happening.”

She smirks. “We’ll see.”

Before climbing into the car, she pauses. “Oh, and Alyssa?”

Alyssa looks up, confused. “Yes?”

Savannah’s smile softens. “We do Sunday dinners at ours — nothing fancy, just family, food, and far too much laughter. You and Quinn must come this week.”

Alyssa blinks, caught off guard. “Oh, that’s very kind—”

“It’s not kindness, dear. It’s a request from a mother who likes you,” Savannah says with a wink. “And besides, Lillian won’t stop talking about you. She’s already planning what to wear.”

Alyssa laughs, colour returning to her cheeks. “All right, Sunday it is.”

“Splendid.” Savannah gets into the car, leaving Lillian grinning out the window. “See you Sunday, Alyssa!”

When they drive off, Alyssa turns to me, shaking her head. “You realise your mum just invited me to Sunday dinner?”

“I do,” I say, utterly unbothered.

“And you’re okay with that?”

I smile, stepping closer until there’s barely a breath between us. “I’m more than okay with it.”

She raises a brow. “You’re aware family dinners usually mean questions?”

“I can handle my family.”

“Can you handle me?” she teases.

“Barely,” I admit, laughing. “But I plan to keep trying.”

Her eyes soften, that familiar tension crackling between us again — unspoken, magnetic.

“You know,” she murmurs, “for a man who begged his mother and sister to keep quiet, you’re doing a poor job at staying subtle.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be subtle.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

She laughs — low and musical — and for a moment, it feels like the entire building exhales with us.

Inside again, AQ hums quietly — the soft rustle of fabric, the faint echo of sewing machines in the distance.

Alyssa sits on the edge of her desk, twirling a pen between her fingers. “You know, when I started this company, I never imagined I’d be doing fittings for a man like you.”

I tilt my head. “A man like me?”

“Infuriatingly charming. Overconfident. Impossible to ignore.”

I grin. “So, all the good qualities, then.”

She laughs. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet, you keep inviting me back.”

She shakes her head, but that small smile stays.

“Sunday dinner?” I ask softly.

“Sunday dinner,” she confirms.

“Dress code?”

She shrugs, pretending to think. “Just don’t wear that smug grin of yours.”

“No promises.”

I lean forward, brushing a quick kiss to her temple before she can protest. “See you Sunday, love.”

She watches me go, her hand lingering over the spot I kissed, a secret smile playing on her lips.

~ Alyssa~

When the building finally empties, I stand by the window, watching the city lights flicker below. AQ is quiet now — peaceful.

The reflection in the glass shows a woman who’s changed. Not the frantic, sleepless version of herself from weeks ago — but someone who’s starting to trust again.

And somehow, Greyson Riley has a hand in that.

As I lock up and head to my car, my phone buzzes with a message.

G: Mum’s thrilled. Lillian’s still in the dress. I’m fairly certain she’s sleeping in it.

I smile to myself.

A: Tell her I said she’s allowed, just this once. And thank you — for today. For everything.

G: Always, love. See you Sunday.

I tuck my phone away, heart full and strange, and drive home under the soft haze of city lights — feeling, for the first time in years, like maybe life’s allowed to be good again.