Chapter 85
1918 Words
✨In Our Own World✨
Ari Darven
He didn’t want the morning to end.
That realization came to him while he was still in the shower.
He reached for his phone and sent a single message downstairs.
Breakfast. Upstairs. No interruptions.
His men were efficient. They didn’t ask questions. Within twenty minutes, a quiet knock sounded at the door. Ari slipped out of bed, pulling on loose trousers, and collected the tray himself before the man could step inside.
No one entered this space today.
This was theirs.
When he returned to the bedroom, she was sitting up, his shirt still draped over her frame, hair slightly messy from sleep.
She looked up when she smelled the coffee.
“You ordered breakfast?” she asked.
“I assumed you’d need sustenance after last night,” he said evenly.
Her eyes widened before she realized he was teasing. A flush rose to her cheeks.
“Ari.”
He allowed himself the smallest smirk.
He set the tray down near the seating area by the windows instead of the bed. “Come here.”
"Come let me make it better," he said stretching out his hands.
She hesitated for half a second — then walked toward him.
There was something about the way she moved this morning. Less guarded. Less precise. As if the sharp lines of her personality had softened just slightly.
He sat down in the armchair and pulled her gently into his lap without asking.
She gasped softly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re avoiding eye contact again,” he replied calmly.
She huffed but didn’t move away.
The tray sat on the low table in front of them — fresh fruit, warm pastries, eggs, coffee. Simple. Clean.
He picked up a piece of fruit and held it near her mouth.
She blinked at him.
“You’re not serious.”
“Open.”
Her lips parted before she could stop herself.
He watched her closely as she took the bite, as if the act itself was intimate. It wasn’t about feeding her. It was about care. Control in a softer form.
She chewed slowly, eyes narrowing at him.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I am.”
She laughed then.
Not the controlled, polite laugh she gave colleagues.
A real one.
Bright. Unfiltered.
It startled him.
He had seen her intense. Determined. Brilliant. Fierce.
He had never seen her like this.
Carefree.
She reached for the coffee and took a sip, then offered him the cup without thinking. He leaned forward and drank from the same place her lips had touched.
Her blush deepened again.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself.
They stayed like that for a long time — no phones, no emails, no strategy sessions. Just slow bites of breakfast, quiet conversation drifting from small memories to idle teasing.
She rested her back against his chest at one point, fingers lazily tracing the inside of his wrist.
“I don’t think I’ve ever taken a morning off like this,” she admitted.
“I don’t take mornings off,” he replied.
She tilted her head back to look at him. “And yet?”
“And yet,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I am.”
That silence again.
The kind that felt full rather than empty.
She shifted slightly in his lap, and he adjusted instinctively, holding her closer. Not possessive.
Anchoring.
The city beyond the windows moved at its usual relentless pace. Calls were likely piling up. Decisions waiting. People expecting him.
He didn’t care.
For the first time in years, the world outside felt distant.
Muted.
This — her warmth against him, the soft brush of her fingers, the way she leaned into him without calculation — this felt real.
“You’re staring again,” she murmured.
“I’m memorizing.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t get moments like this.”
She studied him carefully.
“You could.”
“Not with everyone.”
That silenced her.
She shifted so she was facing him fully now, legs tucked against his sides, still sitting in his lap. The shirt she wore slipped slightly off one shoulder, and he adjusted it gently — not to expose her, but to cover her.
She noticed.
“You’re different today,” she said.
He considered that.
“Maybe,” he admitted.
He wasn’t performing dominance. Wasn’t managing an outcome.
He was simply with her.
She leaned forward and kissed him softly — no urgency, no heat. Just affection.
He deepened it slightly, hand resting at the small of her back, but he didn’t let it turn into anything more.
Today wasn’t about that.
It was about ease.
They moved from the chair to the sofa later, the breakfast tray abandoned, her curled against him again. She talked about nothing important — a case from years ago, a childhood memory, the way she used to hate mornings.
He listened.
Actually listened.
And when she laughed again — bright, unrestrained — something unfamiliar tightened in his chest.
He realized then what this was.
Not obsession.
Not control.
Not possession.
Peace.
A bubble.
Their bubble.
Untouched by scrutiny. Untouched by expectation.
Just them.
He brushed his lips lightly against her temple as she settled more comfortably against him.
“You’re smiling,” she said without looking up.
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I don’t intend to let this disappear.”
She tilted her head slightly, eyes meeting his.
“It won’t,” she said.
He believed her.
And that belief — simple, quiet, steady — felt stronger than any promise he could have made.
✨Back to Reality✨
Elena Vale
She woke before him the next morning.
Not because she wanted to leave — but because she had to.
The penthouse was still dim, early morning light stretching lazily across the marble floors. Ari’s arm was heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and steady against the back of her neck.
For a moment, she allowed herself to stay.
Just one more minute.
She didn’t have clothes there. No spare blazer. No heels tucked in a discreet corner of his closet. Just his shirt draped over a chair and last night folded carefully near the bed.
Ari had mentioned, almost casually before leaving the previous afternoon, that it was something that would need to be “addressed.”
Elena had blushed and pretended not to understand.
She carefully lifted Ari’s arm and slipped out of bed. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
She paused to look at him.
Sleep softened him. Took away the sharp lines of command. Made him look almost… vulnerable.
Her chest tightened.
She dressed quietly, gathered her things, and stepped out.
By the time she reached her apartment, the world felt louder.
Normal.
She showered, letting the hot water clear the lingering warmth of yesterday. When she stepped out, she studied herself in the mirror.
Composed.
Hair pulled back smoothly. Makeup precise. Navy blazer. Structured skirt. Neutral heels.
Strategic again.
But her eyes looked different.
Brighter.
She grabbed her bag and headed to work.
---
The moment she stepped into the office, the weight returned.
Emails. Deadlines. Movement.
She had barely set her things down when her assistant appeared at her door.
“Frank wants to see you.”
Of course he did.
Elena straightened instinctively and walked down the hall, each step measured.
Frank didn’t offer her a seat.
“You were absent yesterday,” he said without greeting.
“I took a personal day.”
“You didn’t submit a formal request.”
“It was short notice.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not how procedure works, Vale.”
She kept her expression neutral. “Understood.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You’re one of my strongest analysts. But that doesn’t put you above protocol. And lately you've been breaking protocol.”
“I never assumed it did.”
Silence.
He seemed to be waiting for defensiveness. For justification.
She gave him neither.
“I expect better moving forward,” he finished.
“You’ll have it.”
That was the end of it.
No raised voices. No escalation.
But the reprimand lingered.
She returned to her office, closing the door behind her. For a brief moment, she leaned against it and exhaled.
Two worlds.
One demanded precision and obedience. The other demanded vulnerability and trust.
She walked to her desk and opened her files.
Work was easier.
Work made sense.
By midday she was deep into cross-referencing financial patterns for an ongoing assignment when there was a light knock.
She didn’t look up immediately.
“Come in.”
Ross entered with his usual confident stride.
Ross was smart. Capable. Also entirely too aware of his own charm.
He leaned casually against the edge of her desk.
“Morning, Vale.”
“Ross.”
He held up a file. “Need to cross-reference your projections with mine. Thought I’d save us both a headache.”
She gestured toward the chair. “Sit.”
He did — but not before flashing her a grin that bordered on theatrical.
“You look well-rested,” he observed.
“I slept.”
“Must have been one hell of a sleep.”
She looked up then, arching a brow.
“Is there a reason you’re commenting on my rest patterns, or are we working?”
He chuckled, unfazed.
“Working. Relax.”
They spread documents across her desk, leaning in to compare figures. Their conversation shifted into technical rhythm — projections, inconsistencies, flagged accounts.
Ross was good at his job.
But every so often, his gaze lingered too long.
“You ever think about grabbing dinner?” he asked casually, pen tapping against the paper.
“We’re at work.”
“After work.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?” he asked lightly.
She met his eyes directly.
“My life.”
That earned a small smirk.
“Still mysterious as ever.”
“Still uninvited as ever,” she replied evenly.
He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Vale. One of these days you’ll give in.”
“No,” she said simply.
There was no flirtation in her tone. No playfulness.
Just clarity.
Ross studied her for a second longer than usual — as if realizing something had shifted.
“You’re different today,” he said.
Her pulse flickered — but her face didn’t.
“How so?”
“Less… sharp.”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He gathered his papers slowly.
“Whatever changed,” he said casually, “hope it’s worth it.”
It already is, she thought.
But she didn’t say that.
Instead, she stood and walked him to the door.
“Send me your updated file by four,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When he left, she closed the door gently and stood still for a moment.
Frank’s reprimand. Ross’s subtle probing. The unspoken expectations of this building.
Her mind had no time to linger it was back to reality : the work she had to get completed.
She returned to her files.
Strategic. Focused. Unshaken.
But beneath the polished surface, something had shifted permanently.
She wasn’t calculating risks anymore.
She was balancing worlds.
And somehow — impossibly — she felt strong enough to hold both.
- Writer
