Chapter 6: Morning After
The morning light slipped through the gaps in the curtains—soft, golden, and far too honest.
Aria blinked up at the ceiling, the ache in her body a lingering echo of everything they hadn't said. Her limbs were tangled in expensive sheets that smelled like him—clean, sharp, unmistakably Julian.
And he was gone.
Not from the penthouse. Just the room.
She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her as though it could shield her from the weight pressing down on her chest. Her head pounded—not from the alcohol, but from the thousand questions she couldn't answer.
Why had she let it happen again?
Why had it felt like it had to*?
Voices drifted faintly from somewhere beyond the bedroom. She caught only fragments—his, firm and low, clipped with frustration.
Someone was on the phone.
Not just any someone.
Someone Julian didn't want her to hear.
The door opened just as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Julian paused in the doorway. His tie was in his hand, shirt half-buttoned, jaw tense. His eyes landed on her, unreadable.
"You're awake."
She nodded. "You left."
"I had a call," he said simply, but his voice lacked its usual steel.
She rose slowly, wrapping the sheet tighter, guarding what little armor she had left. "Is that all it was?"
A beat of silence.
Then: "We should talk."
Aria's breath caught.
Not because of what he said—but how he said it.
Like he wasn't sure if he was about to explain something…
Or confess to something far more dangerous.
She stood a little straighter. "About last night?"
Julian crossed the room, not touching her, not even close—but she still felt it. That unspoken current between them, strong enough to bend steel.
"Yes," he said finally. "And about what happens next."
Her chest tightened. "We go back to work. Pretend it never happened. That's what people like us do, isn't it?"
His lips curved faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Is that what you want, Aria?"
She hesitated.
Was it?
Wanting had never been the issue. Control was. Control meant staying safe. Staying untouchable. And Julian... he made her want to lose all of it.
"You're my boss now," she said instead, deflecting. "This—whatever this was—can't happen again."
Julian took a slow step forward. "You said the same thing after the first night."
She hated how his voice sank into her like a blade—slow, deliberate, unavoidable.
"That was before I knew who you were."
"And now that you do?"
Aria lifted her chin. "Now I know better."
But her voice lacked conviction.
He stopped inches from her, gaze locked on hers. "Do you?"
The tension snapped like a live wire between them.
She wanted to step back, but she couldn't. Wouldn't.
His hand brushed her arm—barely a touch, yet it seared her skin. "I told myself I wouldn't touch you again," he said quietly. "But I lied."
Aria swallowed hard. "Then don't."
He froze.
Not from her words—but from the crack in her voice that gave her away.
She didn't mean it.
Not really.
Not when every part of her was still aching from the way he'd held her like she was something more than a mistake.
He stepped back.
Just one step.
Enough to break the spell.
"I'll have your clothes sent in from your place," he said, suddenly brisk. "You can take the day. Or not. Your call."
And just like that, he was shutting the door behind him.
Cold.
Distant.
Like nothing had happened.
Except everything had.
Aria sank back onto the bed, fingers digging into the sheet like it could hold her together.
Whatever they were walking toward—it wasn't over.
And something told her it had never really begun, either.
Not yet.
But soon.
Too soon.
And when it did, there would be no undoing it.