Love is Better in the Dark

Eleanor Black’s office wasn’t just a workspace—it was a carefully curated statement of power wrapped in elegance. The room glowed with soft, golden light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city below. At the center sat her desk—a stunning slab of white marble, its surface nearly bare except for a sleek laptop, a crystal tumbler of water, and a vase holding white peonies. On the desk’s edge, the name ELEANOR BLACK was etched into a warm black plaque, backlit in gold, standing as both signature and warning. Behind her, one wall told the story she’d bled to write—framed black-and-white photographs documenting her ascent from boardroom underdog to corporate titan. Early handshake deals with gray-haired men who’d underestimated her. Ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Global stages. Each frame was a battle scar disguised as a trophy. A rich emerald velvet sofa sat perpendicular to her desk, positioned to encourage real conversations. The space managed to be incredibly powerful while still feeling welcoming—much like Eleanor herself. Eleanor sat behind that marble monument now, her fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against its cool surface, her dark eyes fixed on something beyond the windows. At thirty-two, she was a vision of controlled perfection. Her jet-black hair fell in a sleek, blunt cut that ended precisely at her collarbones. Her skin was a warm, deep brown that seemed to glow against the sharp white of her tailored blouse. High cheekbones gave her face an aristocratic edge, while full lips—currently pressed into a thin line of frustration—softened what might otherwise have been too severe. She was tall, nearly five-foot-nine, with a lean, athletic build that came from early morning Pilates sessions and a metabolism that ran on stress and black coffee. Today, though, that carefully maintained composure was cracking. Across from her, Ava Chen perched on the edge of the emerald sofa, watching her boss with the kind of familiarity that came from five years of reading Eleanor’s moods. Ava was Eleanor’s opposite in almost every way—petite at barely five-foot-three, with a round, expressive face framed by shoulder-length honey-brown hair that never quite stayed in its clip. Her warm hazel eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, which was often. Where Eleanor commanded rooms with cool authority, Ava charmed them with genuine warmth. “Ethan just happened to be another failed relationship,” Eleanor said finally, her voice carrying the flat exhaustion of someone who’d had this conversation too many times already. “Honestly, I don’t know what these men’s problem really is, but I think I’m done with the love thing for now.” Ava leaned forward. “Okay, but before you swear off men entirely and become one of those CEOs who marries her work and dies alone in a penthouse full of cats—” “I’m allergic to cats.” “—help me understand what went wrong. What exactly are you looking for in a man?” Eleanor’s jaw tightened. She turned to face Ava fully, and for a moment, something vulnerable flickered across her features before she locked it down. “I want Prince Charming.” The silence lasted exactly two seconds before Ava exploded into laughter—the kind of genuine, uncontrollable laughter that bent her forward and made her shoulders shake. “I’m sorry—” Ava gasped between fits. “Prince Charming? Are those expectations not too high?” Eleanor’s expression shifted into something between confusion and shame, her fingers curling into fists. “I’m the f*****g CEO of Black Groups,” she said, her voice rising. “The only woman in the Black family to ever handle this position, and you’re telling me my expectations are too high? Maybe I’m just too good for these men on the street.” That sobered Ava slightly. She stood and crossed to Eleanor’s desk, then reached out and pressed down gently but firmly on Eleanor’s shoulders, keeping her seated. “Eli,” Ava said, using the nickname she’d earned the right to use. “Listen to me. For this to work out, you have to see them for who they are, not who you need them to be on paper. You’ve gone after rich men. Titled men. Exquisite men with pedigrees longer than your quarterly reports. But maybe you should look for someone more… less polished?” Eleanor squirmed under Ava’s hands. “Someone less polished will not fit in my lifestyle,” she protested. “I want to be loved, Ava. Cared for and taken care of. Not constantly worrying about whether some guy is trying to make the Blacks love him just to get closer to the company. You get me?” Before Ava could answer, the office door opened with a soft click. Bob Martinez, the executive floor’s service manager, entered carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee. He was in his fifties, with silver-threaded hair and quiet competence that made him nearly invisible. “Ladies,” he said, setting the cups down. “Thank you, Bob,” they said in unison. He disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. Ava released Eleanor’s shoulders and grabbed one of the cups, taking a long sip while her mind worked. Eleanor watched her secretary’s face shift through several expressions before landing on something that looked dangerously close to mischief. “Eli,” Ava said slowly, her hazel eyes bright. “What if you went on blind dates?” “No.” Eleanor’s response was immediate and sharp as a blade. “Why?” “Because eventually he’s going to see my face and recognize it’s Eleanor Black, and then what? We’re right back where we started.” Ava set down her coffee and began pacing. “Okay, but what if he doesn’t see your face? What if it’s always in a dark room? Just talk. Just getting to know one another. Nothing visual. Nothing that triggers all those Eleanor Black associations.” Eleanor opened her mouth to refuse again, then closed it. She picked up her own coffee—black, no sugar, hot enough to hurt—and let the warmth seep into her palms while she considered. “You have nothing to lose, Eli,” Ava continued persuasively. “Think about it. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll never meet him and he’ll never meet you—at least not with the lights on. You can be anyone. Just Eleanor. Not Eleanor Black, CEO. Just… you.” Just you. When was the last time Eleanor had been just herself? “I don’t even know if I remember how to be ‘just me,’” Eleanor admitted quietly. “Then maybe it’s time to find out.” Eleanor took another sip of coffee, then set the cup down with a decisive click. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. But who? We can’t exactly post an ad, and it can’t be anyone from our circles. It can’t be anyone who might recognize my voice.” Ava’s smile turned calculating. “We can find him. Any man, any background. I’ll screen them—not for money or status, but for substance. Kindness. Humor. The kind of things you can’t fake in the dark when all you have is conversation.” “This is insane.” “Completely insane,” Ava agreed cheerfully. “But you agreed to it, so it’s happening. I’ll need parameters though. Age range? Dealbreakers?” Eleanor stood and walked to her windows, pressing one palm against the glass. Somewhere down there was someone who might see her—really see her—without the blinding glare of her success getting in the way. “Between twenty-eight and thirty-eight,” she said finally. “Dealbreakers: anyone who works in finance or tech—too much overlap with my world. Anyone who’s been featured in business magazines. Anyone Ethan might have introduced me to.” She paused. “Must-haves: he has to be willing to show up without questions. And he has to be kind. Genuinely kind, not performatively kind. I’m so tired of performance.” Ava was already typing notes into her phone. “Kind. Genuine. Willing to date a mystery woman in the dark. Got it. When do you want to start?” Eleanor’s reflection stared back at her from the window—powerful, polished, perfect, and so deeply lonely it made her chest ache. “Soon,” she said. “Before I change my mind and convince myself this is the worst idea anyone’s ever had.” “It might be,” Ava admitted. “But it also might be exactly what you need.” As Ava left to begin what would undoubtedly be the strangest recruiting process of her career, Eleanor remained at the window. The golden light was fading now, giving way to the blue-gray of early evening. Soon the city would be dark except for its artificial lights, each one a window into a life she’d never touch. But maybe—just maybe—in the darkness, she’d finally find something real. The thought terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​