The words hit harder than they should. Rationally, I knew this would happen—his apartment was never meant to stay off-limits forever. But hearing it out loud feels like someone just yanked the air out of the night.
“Oh,” I manage, my voice smaller than I mean for it to be.
He folds the paper carefully, like if he’s gentle enough it won’t change what it means. “Guess that’s… good news,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach. “Good news.”
I should be happy for him—he deserves this, deserves his home back, his space, his independence. But all I can think about is the empty apartment waiting for me upstairs.
Leo looks at me, reading everything I don’t say. His jaw flexes once. “Hey,” he says softly. “Nothing’s changing.”
But the ache in my chest says otherwise. Because after everything we’ve fought through, survived together, I don’t know how to go back to separate.
And the part that terrifies me most? I’m not sure I want to.
Chapter 36
The Reveal
Leo
The envelope sitson Sage’s counter like it’s mocking me. The wordsMove-in Readyare stamped clean across the front—neat, impersonal, final. She runs a finger along the edge of it, her smile polite but fragile, the kind that hides the sting.
“So,” she says lightly, setting it down. “Looks like you’ll be heading home.”
I should say yes. I should make it easy, tell her I’ll move back in tomorrow and we’ll figure out the rest later. But something in her voice—the tiny break she tries to cover—makes my chest tighten.
I don’t want to leave. Not the apartment. Not her.
“Come with me,” I say before I can second-guess it.
Her head lifts fast, eyes narrowing like she’s not sure she heard me right. “What?”
I roll my shoulders, letting out a sharp breath, the tension running down my spine like static before I find the words. “Just… Come with me. You’ll see.”
Sage studies me, the crease between her brows deepening. “Leo, it’s late?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “But I need to show you something.”
She hesitates, glancing at the envelope again, then back at me. The air between us hums, charged and uncertain. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
The elevator ride is quiet, the hum of the cables filling the silence we can’t quite touch. My pulse drums in my ears, matching the rhythm of the ascent. I’ve pictured this moment for weeks—how she’d react, what she’d say—but now that it’s happening, all that certainty feels like smoke. What if it’s too much? What if she hates it? What if she thinks it’s me trying to buy her instead of build somethingwithher?
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I step aside to let her out first.
She takes one step into the penthouse and stops cold.
It’s not what it used to be—gone are the gray marble countertops, the chrome fixtures, the glass that reflected nothing but its own emptiness. The kitchen glows under warm pendant lights now. Butcher-block counters. Double ovens. Copper pans hanging from a simple rack that catches the light like soft fire. Handmade pottery lines the open shelves, earthy and imperfect.
Sage’s hand goes to her mouth. “You… did this?”
I swallow hard and nod. “You said a kitchen should feel alive.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “So I made it feel like you.”
She doesn’t move for a long moment. Just takes it in—the warmth, the color, the space that finally feelshuman.Then her gaze lands on the far corner of the room.
The filming setup—small but perfect. Countertop lights, soft backdrop, everything ready for her to cook, create, teach. The sign above it reads, in simple lettering:Fuel Your Fire.
Her voice wavers when she finally speaks. “You built this… for me.”
