Leah’s POVThe moment I hang up with Cece, I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly. My mind is a mess, tangled in a web of emotions I don’t have the time or energy to untangle.Talking to Cece should have helped. Cece has always had the right things to say."You’re already with Ethan, but if seeing Dwight with another woman is shaking you up like this, maybe you need to take a step back and figure out what you really want."Maybe she did say the right thing. Maybe I was just the one who wasn’t ready to hear it...I should focus on work, not on the man who seems determined to unsettle me at every turn.Just as I click open my laptop, a knock sounds at my door. Ava, my assistant, steps in, her usual bright expression subdued.“Mr. Spencer wants to see you in his office. Immediately.”My stomach clenches.I sit up, feigning nonchalance. “Did he say why?”Ava shakes her head. “No. Just that it’s urgent.”A dozen thoughts race through my mind. Is this about my outburst in his office? Abou
Dwight’s POVI still can’t believe Leah barged into my office like that.It was reckless, unprofessional, and completely out of line. And yet, no matter how much I tell myself that, I can’t shake the look on her face when she saw Maya.That flicker of hurt—so brief I almost missed it. Almost.I rub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. This shouldn’t bother me. Leah has Ethan now. She’s made that choice, moved on, built a life without me. So why did she look like that? And why does it still sit heavy in my chest?I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.Maya.Last night with her had been easy. No tension, no games, no messy history weighing us down. Just two people enjoying each other’s company, no second-guessing. She’s sharp, confident, and refreshingly direct. She knows exactly what she wants and doesn’t hesitate to say it.She isn’t looking for something temporary.She wants a man who’s stable, dependable—someone who won’t waste her time.And I respect that.More than tha
Leah’s POVI don’t see Dwight again for the rest of the day.It shouldn’t matter. But God, it does.His words replay in my head, each one colder than the last."What if Maya had been an important client?"That one sticks the most. It confirms what I already suspected—Maya wasn’t there for business. He didn’t need to clarify further. The implication was clear.I exhale sharply, rubbing my temples. It shouldn’t bother me. Not when I’ve supposedly moved on. Not when I have Ethan.And yet, it does.More than that, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve ruined something. The almost-camaraderie we’d seemed to be developing, the rare moments when things between us felt easy, unforced. Now, that fragile thread has snapped, leaving only this unspoken wall between us.I push the thoughts away and glance at the time. Lunch. I have been skipping lunch too much lately and have noticed that my skirts have become a little loose around the waist.A break might help. A distraction.I stand, grabbing my p
Leah’s POVI stand in front of my closet, fingers trailing over the rows of perfectly pressed dresses.Pick your best.That’s what my father would expect.Anything less would be unacceptable.I exhale, stepping back slightly, my gaze sweeping over the meticulously organized space. Silks, chiffons, structured pieces in neutral tones—each one carefully selected, curated, and arranged. I know what he would say if I picked something too bold, too informal, too much like me.I finally settle on a sleek, dark green dress. It hugs my figure just right—elegant, refined, sophisticated. The kind of dress that doesn’t invite criticism.I slip it on, the cool fabric settling against my skin like armor.Next, my hair.I sink into the chair before my vanity, staring at the soft curls framing my face.Once, I had loved my curls.Wild and untamed, they had always felt like the truest expression of myself. Something uniquely mine. But my father had once told me, in his usual matter-of-fact tone, that
Leah’s POV When I arrive home, I feel more exhausted than I have been in months.I step out of my clothes as my brain plays back the events of today. From the woman who had been with Dwight to the brief meeting we had, where he pretty much warned me to stay professional.And then dinner with my father, where he reminded me that I wasn’t there to distract myself.But the truth was, I was deeply distracted by Dwight’s presence. And with the new knowledge that he had someone, I wondered how I was going to manage to keep my head in the game.I step out of my dress and into the shower, taking a much-needed bath. But as my body begins to tingle, I am reminded that I haven’t been touched in weeks.I shut my eyes and allow my fingers to roam my body as I try to drum up the image of Ethan in my head. Sweet, level-headed Ethan, whose love isn’t tumultuous, whose presence doesn’t leave my heart in turmoil.One finger flicks across one pebbled nipple, and I let out a low moan as the other hand s
Dwight's POVI lean back against the couch, one hand gripping my phone, the other swirling a glass of whiskey I haven’t taken a sip from yet. The city lights spill in through the tall windows of my apartment, casting a warm glow over the room. I exhale, listening as Maya’s voice fills my ear, light and effortless.“…So, of course, he tried to object, but the judge just looked at him like he was an idiot,” she says with a chuckle. “I swear, Dwight, the defense attorney was this close to getting held in contempt.”I smirk, shaking my head. “I don’t know how you deal with people like that every day.”“Easy,” she says. “I win.”I let out a low laugh, finally taking a sip of my drink. Maya is sharp—unapologetically so. Talking to her is easy. Entertaining. I’ve never been one for small talk, but with her, the conversations never feel forced.I should have done this months ago and not subjected my heart to hurt and hate. Talking to someone, getting to know how their day was, and telling the
Dwight's POV After we end the call, I stay seated on the couch, staring into my glass. The whiskey swirls, catching the dim light.Maya’s words replay in my mind, over and over."If you didn’t still have feelings for her, she wouldn’t be working for you."It’s a ridiculous thought. I have plenty of people working for me. My business is built on talent, not emotions. Leah is here because she’s good at what she does.That’s all.Right?I lean my head back, sighing.Maybe I did want to prove something to myself by bringing her onto this project. Maybe I wanted to see if time had truly dulled whatever we had.If I could be around her and feel… nothing.But I don’t feel nothing.I feel everything.Frustration. Annoyance. A strange, unwelcome sense of responsibility.And, worst of all, that lingering, unwanted pull. Had I tried to play with fire? Was this whole thing going to snowball on me?I shut my eyes briefly, willing the thoughts away.I don’t want Leah.Not anymore.But for some rea
Leah’s POVBy noon, I’ve made up my mind.Last night’s conversation with Ethan had left a knot in my stomach, and I refuse to let it fester. I need to fix this. I need to remind him—and myself—that we’re solid, that what we have isn’t fragile enough to break under the weight of a few misplaced emotions.So, I grab my purse and step out of the office, heading straight for the elevators. The morning had dragged on, filled with meetings, emails, and a brief yet impersonal exchange with Dwight about the campaign’s next phase. He had been all business, his voice cool, his demeanor unreadable. I had mirrored his professionalism, acting as though the past meant nothing.But the past wasn’t my concern today.Ethan was.The streets hum with life as I make my way to one of Ethan’s favorite cafés, the same one we used to frequent for weekend brunches when our schedules weren’t so hectic. I order his usual—chicken pesto panini, a side of seasoned fries, and an iced coffee. For myself, I get a gri
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN Leah’s POVI stood in the middle of the guest room, my fingers idly grazing the edge of the dresser, trying to take it all in. The place didn’t feel real—at least not in the sense that it belonged to someone I used to love. It was too modern, too polished. A sleek contrast to the chaotic mess my mind had become.Dwight had shown me around with the precision of someone trying not to linger too long. The kitchen, the alarm system, the espresso machine I’d probably never use, and then the guest room—with fresh linens and my favorite scent diffused lightly into the air like he’d somehow known I’d be here tonight.I was alone now. The soft sound of his retreating footsteps had long faded down the hall. But the space still felt charged, like something invisible tethered us together. I exhaled slowly and glanced around again. The room was beautiful. Minimalistic yet warm. Soft beiges and greys. A plush area rug. It felt like him. It also felt safe. And that al
Dwight's POVThe moment I hang up Leah’s call, I’m already halfway out the door.I don’t think. I just move.The city blurs past as I tear through the streets like a man possessed. I don't care how many traffic laws I break or how many horns blare at me in protest. Leah is scared—and for good reason. And I'm not going to waste another damn second.I should’ve pushed harder today at the office. I knew something was wrong. The way she sat through that meeting, eyes vacant, her usual fire smothered under whatever weight she was carrying. I told myself to keep my distance, told myself it wasn’t my place anymore after she insisted she was fine.Maybe I was just a stupid coward who was afraid of digging deeper.And now here I am, racing through the night because a car was parked too long outside her window and she’s scared out of her mind.The last time this happened, it was me being hunted. Stalked. Dragged into the dark.And now they’ve moved on to her.I clench my jaw so tight it aches.
Dwight's POV The moment I hang up Leah’s call, I’m already halfway out the door.I don’t think. I just move.The city blurs past as I tear through the streets like a man possessed. I don't care how many traffic laws I break or how many horns blare at me in protest. Leah is scared—and for good reason. And I'm not going to waste another damn second.I should’ve pushed harder today at the office. I knew something was wrong. The way she sat through that meeting, eyes vacant, her usual fire smothered under whatever weight she was carrying. I told myself to keep my distance, told myself it wasn’t my place anymore after she insisted she was fine.Maybe I was just a stupid coward who was afraid of digging deeper.And now here I am, racing through the night because a car was parked too long outside her window and she’s scared out of her mind.The last time this happened, it was me being hunted. Stalked. Dragged into the dark.And now they’ve moved on to her.I clench my jaw so tight it aches.
Leah’s POVI grip the steering wheel tighter as the sun begins its descent behind the high-rises, casting long shadows over the glassy cityscape. The air conditioning hums softly in my Audi, a dull contrast to the static buzzing in my head. It’s been there all day—ever since I kicked Ethan out of my penthouse the night before. I should feel relieved. I should feel strong for finally standing up for myself. But I don’t. I feel haunted. Every part of me is still strung tight, like a violin wound too far past its pitch. I haven’t told anyone what happened. Not dad, not the driver who picks me up sometimes. Not even Dwight. Especially not Dwight. The memory of his hand brushing the loose strand of hair from my cheek keeps replaying in my head like a quiet whisper. I’d leaned into the touch—God help me, I’d wanted to. There’d been nothing romantic about it, not really, not in the way it should’ve been. But something about the softness, the moment of tenderness in an otherwise col
DWIGHT POVShe’s not herself.I knew it the moment she walked into the conference room. Leah always carried herself with a kind of self-assured grace, even when she was fuming, even when her eyes flashed with the heat of an argument. But today… she looked like a version of herself that had been dimmed. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled—unlike her. Her makeup, though minimal, didn’t quite conceal the shadows under her eyes. And the way she kept staring at the same spot on the table like she could bore a hole through it? Yeah, something was off.I told myself not to care. Reminded myself of the promises I’d made in Greece—to keep my distance, to let her do her job, and to stop letting my feelings cloud my judgment. But logic only goes so far when emotion’s been given a seat at the table.She barely said a word throughout the meeting. Gave vague nods, offered clipped feedback, and didn’t catch even one of Jordan’s exaggerated eye rolls. That, more than anything, told me something was wron
Leah’s POVThe elevator dings softly, and I step out into the quiet hallway of my penthouse building, heels echoing against the marble as I move toward my door. I’m already unfastening the clasp on my bag, mentally sorting through everything I need to do before tomorrow’s pitch—until I see him.Ethan.Leaning against the wall opposite my door like he belongs there.There’s an immediate chill. My stomach knots before I even speak. His presence here, at my home, makes the air feel tighter.It’s like déjà vu—Greece. That morning I’d stepped out and found Dwight waiting, his expression unreadable, his eyes full of history. But this isn’t the same. Dwight’s presence had brought calm, uncertainty maybe, but not fear. Not this dread pulsing beneath my ribs.“What are you doing here?” I ask, keys frozen in my hand.Ethan straightens, and I get a better look at him. His shirt is wrinkled and half-untucked, the collar spotted with something dark—coffee maybe, or liquor. His hair is a mess, stic
Ethan's POV The morning air bites through my shirt as I shove the door closed behind me. I haven’t changed clothes since yesterday—hell, maybe even the day before. The collar of my shirt is creased, and the cuffs are stiff with old sweat. The same slacks cling to me like a second skin, and I’m sure I smell like whiskey and unwashed dreams.But I don’t care.I just needed to get out of that damn house.The walls were closing in again. Same walls, same ceiling, same silence—broken only by the ticking of a clock I should’ve smashed weeks ago. The whiskey stain on the carpet had stared mockingly at me, reminding me of my loss of self-control. Reminding me of how I'd further messed up everything.When all this blew over, what was I going to do with Maria? I couldn't have her report me to the authorities. I couldn't bear seeing my name on the news. Being described as a creep. I wasn't a creep. I wasn't an assailant or whatever choice of words Maria would tell them. I had simply lost contro
Dwight’s POVShe hadn’t changed her perfume.That’s the first thing I noticed after Leah walked out of my office earlier. That same heady mix of vanilla and something softer—maybe jasmine—had lingered even after she was gone. I’d tried to stay cold. Professional. Detached. But the truth was, seeing her again had stirred something in my chest I hadn’t felt in a long time.It wasn’t love. Not quite. But it was close enough to sting.She hadn’t come back for me. She’d come back for the project. For herself. She had insisted on continuing—forced her way back in, even going through Felix to get it done. That kind of dedication? That kind of resolve? Damn it, I admired that.And Leah had always burned brighter than most.I rub my temple and sit straighter in my chair, the glow from my laptop casting shadows across the floor. The rest of the building is quiet, most of the remaining staff already gone for the night. Ever since the fire at the workshop, Glimmr had been running on reduced manpo
Leah's POVThe air outside the restaurant is cooler than it was when I arrived. Crisp night wind teases at the strands of hair that slipped from the clip at the back of my head. I don't bother fixing them. I cross the street without looking back. No need to. That conversation with Uncle Gerald is already burned into my brain. His voice. His carefully chosen words. The quiet desperation he tried to hide. It lingers, echoes under my skin like a bruise waiting to darken.I flag down a cab, and it pulls up promptly. Slipping inside, I rattle off my address to the driver and sink into the seat, resting my head briefly against the window. The city blurs past, a kaleidoscope of light and motion, but none of it touches me. I’m still stuck at that table, watching his eyes flicker with guilt and fear and something else. Something I can’t name.The ride is short. I tip the driver, then make my way into my building, heels clicking against the marble floor. The doorman offers me a polite nod, and