20
1128 Words
Author's POV
The days after the cocaine incident did not pass so much as they dragged—slow, heavy, burdened by the weight of what had happened and everything it had set into motion.
Chicago, once loud and alive in its own ruthless rhythm, had dulled into something quieter for them. Not safer—never that—but quieter in a way that felt temporary, like the calm eye of a storm waiting to close in again.
For Esmeralda, sleep had become both an escape and a prison.
When she was awake, the thoughts followed her—what if Leoandros is just a good pretender, what happens when she actually tells him that she love him, all that. When she slept, they softened at the edges, turning into blurred fragments that didn’t quite reach her. But even in sleep, her body carried the doubt.
She hadn’t realized how deeply it had all settled into her bones.
Leoandros had.
He saw it in the way she moved—slower, heavier. In the way her shoulders slumped when she thought no one was looking. In the way her eyes, though still sharp and alive, carried something more now. Something quieter.
Something doubtful.
So when the decision was made to leave Chicago behind and return to New York, before they returned to Greece he felt it was a good decision.
He didn’t hesitate.
He simply ensured everything was ready.
---
The morning they were set to leave arrived wrapped in pale light and silence.
The penthouse, once filled with tension and movement, felt almost… still.
Too still.
Leoandros stood just outside the bedroom for a moment, his hand resting lightly against the door as if he were deciding whether or not to disturb what lay beyond it.
He already knew what he would find.
And yet, he opened it anyway.
---
Esmeralda was exactly where he had left her hours ago.
Curled beneath the sheets, her body angled slightly toward the center of the bed as if instinctively seeking warmth even in her sleep. Her hair was spread across the pillow in a tangled, chaotic halo—blonde hair scattered in every direction, completely untamed.
It would have annoyed anyone else.
It didn’t annoy him.
It did something else entirely.
Leoandros stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His gaze lingered on her for longer than necessary, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled into something softer.
She looked… small.
Not physically—Esmeralda had never been small in presence—but in this moment, stripped of her usual fire, she seemed almost fragile.
It made something in his chest tighten.
He approached the bed slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, his weight barely disturbing her.
“Esme,” he said quietly.
No response.
He tried again, his voice just a fraction louder.
“Esmeralda.”
Nothing.
A faint exhale left him, somewhere between amusement and resignation.
“She’s not waking up,” he murmured under his breath.
And then, just like that, the decision was made for him.
---
There was something unexpectedly intimate about dressing someone who trusted you completely.
Especially when they weren’t awake to see it.
Leoandros moved carefully, pulling the sheets back just enough to free her from them without exposing her to the chill of the room for too long. His hands, though large and calloused, were gentle as he lifted her leg slightly to slide on a pair of grey sweatpants.
He paused once, watching her face.
Still asleep.
Still peaceful.
Good.
He continued.
The other leg followed, then he adjusted the waistband, ensuring it sat comfortably against her hips. There was no rush in his movements—no impatience. Only precision.
Next came the shirt.
A simple white tee.
He lifted her just enough to slip it over her head, his hand steady at the back of her neck as he guided the fabric down. For a brief moment, her face pressed lightly against his shoulder, her breath warm even in sleep.
Leoandros stilled.
Just for a second.
Then he finished, smoothing the shirt down over her torso before pulling back slightly to take in the result.
Grey sweatpants.
White t-shirt.
Completely unremarkable.
And yet—
His gaze softened.
She still looked like something entirely his.
---
Then there was her hair.
He stared at it.
Long.
Blonde.
Wild.
Morning hair.
Completely beyond saving.
Leoandros reached out, attempting—against all logic—to run his fingers through it in some effort to tame the chaos.
It didn’t work.
If anything, it made it worse.
A low huff left him.
“Unbelievable.”
And yet, he didn’t try again.
He left it exactly as it was.
Because somehow, it suited her more than anything perfectly styled ever could.
---
Lifting her was instinct.
One arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back, drawing her close against him with ease. Her body shifted naturally, her head falling against his chest, her hand curling slightly against his shirt as if even in sleep she recognized him.
He adjusted his hold without thinking.
Secure.
Careful.
Unyielding.
And then he walked.
---
The hallway outside was lined with men who knew better than to speak unless spoken to.
Still, their eyes followed him.
How could they not?
Leoandros—feared, respected, untouchable—carrying his wife like she was something delicate. Something that required protection rather than commanded it.
It wasn’t weakness.
They all knew that.
If anything, it made him more dangerous.
Because a man like Leoandros, who had something to lose, would burn the world before letting it be taken from him.
---
The car waiting outside was already prepared.
Engine running.
Door open.
No delays.
Leoandros stepped in smoothly, settling into the seat with Esmeralda still in his arms. The door shut behind them with a soft, final sound, sealing them inside.
The city passed by in silence.
Buildings blurred.
Streets faded.
Chicago slowly slipped away.
And through it all, Esmeralda didn’t wake.
---
The private jet stood ready on the runway, sleek and imposing against the early morning light.
Everything had been arranged down to the smallest detail.
There would be no mistakes.
No interruptions.
No risks.
Leoandros stepped out of the car, adjusting his hold on Esmeralda slightly before making his way toward the aircraft.
The stairs were cleared instantly.
No one dared stand in his path.
And once again, he carried her.
Up the steps.
Into the jet.
Through the cabin.
Until he reached one of the seats.
---
Only then did he lower her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary before he finally pulled back.
And that was when she stirred.
---
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