Adrian didn't sleep the night Emily left.
He stayed in the penthouse, eyes tracing the outline of her empty wine glass, the untouched roast duck, the flickering candles that died out one by one. Her words echoed louder in the silence than anything he'd heard in years.
"Love isn't meant to be earned."
He should've known. Should've seen the pain in her eyes, the disappointment tightening her jaw, the storm of emotions beneath that trembling composure. Instead, he'd weaponized his own grief, flung it like shrapnel at the one person who never asked for anything in return.
"You're not my wife. You're my assistant."
God, what a thing to say. What a terrible thing to say.
Daniel couldn't believe his ears. But in truth that was what happened, it was far worse than he imagined. One look at his friend's hollow eyes and the tension in his knuckles gripping the glass was enough to tell him everything.
"So," Daniel said, settling into the seat across from Adrian, "you finally broke the heart of the only woman who's ever genuinely cared for you… Asides darling ol' Margaret that is."
Adrian didn't respond. He stared at the drink in front of him, as if the ice melting inside might save him.
Daniel scoffed. "She was trying to love you, man. And you shut the damn door in her face."
Adrian exhaled, slow and heavy. "I didn't know what to do."
"That's the problem with you," Daniel said. "You confuse control with love. You think if someone gives without demanding, it's manipulation."
"She's still coming to work," Adrian said. "She shows up on time. Handles her responsibilities. But she doesn't speak to me. Not a word. Doesn't come back home, either. She stays at her brother, Nathaniel's."
Daniel crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "And what did you expect? That she'd crawl back after you gutted her with your words?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "I tried talking to her. I went to Nathaniel's."
Daniel raised a brow. "And?"
"He told me to fuck off. Said if I couldn't let go of my past, I sure as hell didn't deserve her. Said I could never love her the way she deserved."
"He's not wrong," Daniel muttered. "But maybe you can prove him wrong."
Adrian looked at him then, a spark in his piercing blue gaze. "How?"
Daniel leaned forward, fingers steepled. "By doing what you've never done before. Be vulnerable. Be honest. Apologize, maybe not publicly, or loudly, but definitely in a way that only Adrian Sinclair would."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "You mean a grand gesture."
"Exactly that. Because she deserves one."
Adrian stared down at his hands. For the first time in forever, he felt small.
***
Emily was sweeping leaves off Nathaniel's porch, her movements slow and meditative. The broom scratched gently against the wood, pushing crisp autumn leaves into neat little piles that danced with every breeze. The sun hung low in the sky, golden and forgiving, casting long shadows that painted the porch in quiet patterns.
Her body moved with a gentle rhythm — sweep, gather, discard — each motion a lullaby her thoughts could rock to. It was the first time in what felt like forever that her soul wasn't chasing something. No battles to fight. No whispers behind her back. No tension tightroping across her shoulders. Just the scent of earth and the sound of rustling leaves.
Peaceful.
She hadn't thought of Adrian all morning. That realization came not with a jolt, but a slow exhale. It felt like progress — however small, however fragile. Like a bruise beginning to fade. Like the air finally didn't hurt to breathe.
Then again, if something is forgotten and you suddenly realize it was… doesn't that mean it never truly left?
The thought floated briefly, bittersweet and sharp. But she let it drift away just as easily. Not today. Not now. She was tired of folding herself around maybes, tired of second-guessing every heartbeat. She was tired of loving a ghost.
There was healing in the ordinary, she was learning. In sweeping porches. In the way the sunlight hit the railing. In the way Nathaniel's old dog rested his head on her foot without a sound. There was grace in choosing peace, even if it wasn't permanent.
She adjusted her grip on the broom and looked out at the street beyond. It was just another morning.
And for now, that was enough.
Inside, Nathaniel was making coffee, humming a tune from their childhood. The kettle whistled. The scent of cinnamon bread filled the air.
Then a loud commotion drew her attention. Emily blinked at the rising noise outside the gate. It wasn't the mailman. Or neighbors. It was... something else.
She stepped onto the walkway, broom still in hand, and stopped. A string quartet played softly under the arch of maple trees. Violin notes floated in the air like silk. White petals were strewn across the sidewalk, forming a path that led to a familiar figure standing in a perfectly tailored suit.
Adrian.
Her heart stuttered. He stood beside a grand sign that read, "I was blind. But I've never stopped seeing you."
Her eyes flicked over the scene, the musicians, the petals, the way Adrian looked like a man standing at the edge of the world begging to be saved.
He stepped forward, voice low, but steady. "I don't deserve you. I never did. But I'm going to say this anyway, in front of whoever might be listening."
She didn't move.
He continued, "I mistook your love for obligation. I mistook your loyalty for duty. And I told myself that pushing you away would keep you from getting hurt. But all I did was hurt you instead."
This didn't feel real, it felt like a dream she'd manufactured to cope with the harsh reality of things.
He knelt.
"I'm not asking for another chance. I'm begging for one. Because I finally understand something: Love isn't meant to be earned. It's meant to be cherished. And I've been a fool to treat yours like something I could measure. Someone I could treat like a transaction. You're more than that. More than words can say."
The world truly went still as Emily dropped the broom.
She walked toward him, heart practically throwing backflips, tears glistening in her lashes.
He held out his hand. "Come home. Not as my assistant. Not as the woman I've relied on. But as the one I've fallen in love with."
A sob escaped her lips. She launched into his arms, and he caught her like she was the only thing he knew how to hold.
He stared into her eyes, and she did his. Getting closer and closer until their lips met. Their kiss was full of everything unspoken — grief, relief, love, forgiveness. The music soared around them. The world blurred away, they were the center of the universe.
From the porch, Nathaniel watched with cautious approval. Maybe Adrian wasn't so bad afterall.
And from the black SUV parked discreetly across the street, Daniel leaned back into the leather seat, sunglasses hiding his charming gaze.
He smiled faintly. Happy for them.
But the final thought that crossed his mind lingered like the memory of a nightmare:
Little did Adrian know, Daniel loved Emily too.