CHAPTER SEVEN CEASEFIRE
1255 Words
DAMIEN
Damien wasn’t used to sharing space.
Not in cars. Not in hotel lobbies. Definitely not in corporate retreat centers masquerading as "creative strategy hubs."
Yet here he was, two hours outside the city, stepping off a private shuttle with six of his top campaign staff—and Arielle.
She didn’t look at him once on the ride over. But he noticed everything: the way she laughed freely with her team, the way people leaned into her like she was sunlight, the way even her silence demanded more attention than any speech in the room.
His team admired her.
Hell, he admired her.
Which made what he said to her last week even worse.
The trip had been his idea—under the guise of "collaborative strategy sessions." But in truth, it was an excuse. To get out of the building. To give her space to lead. And maybe—just maybe—to find a way to say what he hadn’t been able to say since she walked out of his office.
ARIELLE
The change of scenery was immediate.
A glass-walled resort tucked beside a lake, trees like sentries guarding the perimeter, and the buzz of creatives finally free from the buzz of cubicles.
Arielle slid seamlessly into her role—delegating, presenting, organizing ideas on whiteboards with graceful precision. She was focused. Calm. Electric.
And she avoided Damien like a professional.
He didn’t interrupt.
But she felt him, always just at the edge of her awareness, like a storm waiting for a cue.
By the second day, the campaign pitch they were refining had taken full shape. Arielle had led the brainstorming session, pulling brilliant ideas from her colleagues and refining them into a pitch that even the most cynical clients would eat up.
When she wrapped the final presentation rehearsal, the room erupted in applause.
Damien had been standing quietly at the back.
For a moment, he looked almost… proud.
Then, he clapped.
Once. Twice. Slow and deliberate.
Everyone turned, half in awe, half terrified.
"Impressive," he said. “That’s exactly the tone we need for this campaign.”
Arielle’s brows lifted slightly. Praise? From him?
The team exchanged glances, then started filing out, still riding the high of the successful pitch practice.
Arielle lingered, organizing notes into a folder.
Damien hesitated by the door.
“You were incredible in there,” he said.
She blinked.
“That’s not sarcasm?”
“No.” He took a breath. “It’s an apology. In layers.”
She set the folder down, turned to face him.
“I don’t need flattery,” she said. “I needed respect.”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “And you deserved it from the start.”
A beat passed.
She stared at him, assessing, as if trying to figure out if the ice really was melting or if it was just another trick of the light.
“You’re not good at this, are you?”
“Not even a little.”
That made her laugh—just a little. The sound softened him like sunlight through a frostbitten window.
“Let me try again,” he said, walking closer. “You were right. I handled it badly. I said things I didn’t mean because... I didn’t want you to see more than I wanted you to see.”
Her brow creased. “And what exactly did I see?”
“Too much,” he said. “But also not enough.”
She didn’t reply right away. She was watching him again. But this time, not like he was a threat.
Like he was a puzzle she wanted to understand.
“Well,” she said at last. “You’re a work in progress.”
“Painfully.”
She smirked. “Lucky for you, I’m very patient with slow learners.”
**Later That Evening**
The firepit behind the resort was surrounded by fairy lights and laughter. Team members lounged with drinks, reliving campaign jokes and roasting each other like old friends.
Arielle sat with Aiyana on a video call, letting her little sister see the view and giggle at the team's antics. She moved the phone so Aiyana could see the stars above the lake, and the little girl gasped like it was magic.
“I’ll take you somewhere like this someday,” Arielle promised softly.
Damien watched from a distance.
She was different here. Or maybe not different—just free.
And he wanted to know that version of her.
After the call ended, she wandered his way with two mugs of hot cocoa.
“Truce?” she asked.
He took the mug. “Temporary.”
“Until the next battle,” she agreed, smiling.
They sat on a bench together, the fire crackling in front of them.
Quiet stretched between them—but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt earned.
He glanced at her. “You were right about people, you know.”
“Oh?”
“They do work harder when they’re seen as human.”
She turned to him. “Even you might make a decent human someday.”
“Steady now.”
They both laughed.
After a pause, he added, “You’re really good with your sister.”
Arielle smiled wistfully. “She’s everything to me. I promised myself she wouldn’t grow up thinking she was alone.”
He nodded slowly. “I know how that feels.”
Their eyes met.
“I see more than you think,” she said softly. “About you. Your distance. Your edges. I don’t know your story, but I know there’s one.”
“There is,” he admitted. “One day, I might even tell it.”
“And until then?”
He looked at the fire. “I’ll try to be less of an ass.”
She smirked. “Start small. Maybe hold the door for someone tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “Done.”
And for the first time since their story began, it wasn’t tense. It wasn’t guarded.
It was just… easy.
The moon was high, silver light reflecting on the lake’s surface like spilled mercury. Damien stood and offered her his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
She looked up, surprised. “Where?”
“I want to show you something.”
Curious, she followed him along a winding path that led to a quiet dock. The water was still. The night was silent save for the distant hum of music and wind through the pines.
He sat, legs dangling over the edge, and she joined him.
“This place,” he said, “was my idea. Not just for the team. For me. To remember why I do this. To remind myself that connection matters. That people matter.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You could’ve just said you missed me.”
He laughed. “That, too.”
Arielle leaned back on her hands. “You’re still a mess.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “But I’m your mess, if you’ll have me.”
She gave him a sideways glance, teasing. “Temporary truce, remember?”
“For now.”
They sat together until the firelight faded, until the stars brightened. Until the tension that once existed between them felt more like potential than friction.
For the first time ever since the night began, conversations between them was just...easy.
Like it was normal.
A ceasefire.
And in the quiet of the night, something undeniably real settled between them.
A beginning.
Or maybe, a return.
- Writer
