After the park, something between them shifted.
It wasn't a grand declaration or a defining moment—it was the slow easing of guarded hearts. A deep exhale after weeks of tension. Sienna didn't say yes. Cassian didn't push. But they began, quietly and steadily, to lean into each other.
Their days became laced with moments she'd never allowed herself before.
Every morning, he'd meet her in the elevator with coffee and a grin that said more than he ever dared out loud. He'd hold her hand when no one was looking—or sometimes even when they were—and she'd pretend not to notice the way their coworkers smirked.
They started going on daily lunch breaks together. Not quick office runs or business talk over salad. Dates. Real ones.
One afternoon it was a quiet noodle shop tucked into an alley. The next, a fancy rooftop café with wine spritzers and gentle breeze. Another day, they simply took their sandwiches to the park and sat under the cherry blossoms where he'd first bared his soul to her. She always tried to pretend it was just lunch—but when he brushed crumbs off her cheek or tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she couldn't lie to herself anymore.
She was falling.
Not just into the kisses or the gifts or the flirting.
She was falling in love with Cassian Hayes.
And he was making it very, very hard not to.
He'd become attentive. Thoughtful. No longer just the arrogant CEO with too much swagger and not enough shame. He was tender with her. Curious. He listened when she spoke. He remembered the little things—how she hated bitter greens and loved cold weather. How she liked her tea steeped exactly four minutes. How she hummed when she was focused.
They didn't talk about what they were. There were no labels.
But she felt it in the way he looked at her across candlelit dinners. In the way his hand found the small of her back when they walked side by side. In how he kissed her slowly, deeply, like he had all the time in the world.
It terrified her.
And thrilled her.
Then came the two days without him.
Cassian had to fly home for a family event—something about a cousin's engagement party and his mother needing him to play nice with distant relatives. He told her three days in advance, kissed her forehead in the elevator, and promised to call every night.
She tried not to be weird about it.
It wasn't like she needed to see him every day.
But the morning after he left, she walked into the office and noticed immediately how much duller it all felt. No coffee waiting by her monitor. No sarcastic voice down the hall calling her Caldwell. No text saying don't eat lunch without me.
It annoyed her more than she expected.
To distract herself, she threw herself into work. There were reports to be filed, numbers to verify, engineers to brief. The company had a few ongoing projects nearing inspection, and she was the only one Cassian trusted to double-check final details.
When the invitation to the engagement party arrived in her inbox—forwarded by someone from the main office—she stared at it, blinking.
Cassian hadn't invited her.
Or maybe he had assumed she'd say no.
Either way, she stayed behind.
Someone had to manage the final turnover reports.
And she wasn't ready for whatever walking into his family event might mean.
So while he sipped champagne and smiled for photos in a tailored suit, she was up past midnight in the office, compiling data, fixing a contractor error, and emailing updates to him like clockwork.
They called each other every night.
It started as something small. Just a check-in.
"Hi," he'd say, voice rough with exhaustion. "How was your day?"
She'd tell him. He'd listen. Sometimes they'd argue over who missed the other more. Sometimes he'd describe the chaos of his mother's matchmaking attempts or how one of his uncles mistook him for his older brother.
Once, he called her at 3 a.m.
She picked up groggy. "Cassian?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"You're three hours ahead."
"I know."
"You're calling me because…?"
"I wanted to hear your voice."
She hadn't replied.
But she didn't hang up either.
They talked until the sky outside her apartment shifted from black to pale indigo.
He said things he never would've dared in daylight.
Told her how much he thought about her. How strange it felt not having her near. How seeing his old bedroom made him realize how far he'd come—and how much of that had only started the moment she walked back into his life.
She'd smiled against her pillow. Whispered that she missed him too.
But when the call ended, and she lay alone in the dark, she felt the weight of it all pressing down on her chest.
Because it wasn't just flirtation anymore.
It wasn't just desire.
She was in love with him.
And if he ever left her for real—if something shattered between them—she wasn't sure how she'd recover.
So she buried herself in spreadsheets.
Told herself to wait until he came home.
Told herself she was still safe.
Even if she already knew the truth:
She was his.
Entirely.