Author POV:
Zoey sat across from Alex on the rooftop terrace, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. The air was cool, and a faint breeze carried the smell of jasmine from the tiny plants lining the railings.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The lights of Manhattan shimmered behind him, painting the outline of his jaw in gold. He looked composed as always, crisp shirt, calm eyes, every inch the man who never lost control. But there was something gentler tonight — a hesitance she hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said quietly.
“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “Then I realized… running from this won’t stop people from talking.”
His mouth lifted slightly. “They’ll always talk. But if we control the story, they won’t get to decide what it means.”
There
