As we pull away, the city rises around us, glass, neon, old brick with new steel strapped over it like scars. Night crowds spill across pavements. Someone’s laughing wildly. Someone’s shouting into a phone. Street food smoke curls upward, ginger, garlic, charred meat. Melbourne always smells like possibility and exhaustion.
Elias drives steadily. “Long trip?”
“Long enough.” I scroll through my emails, thumbing through contract approvals, supplier complaints, and a board reminder. None of it lands. Penn’s name ghosts behind every sentence, every blinking notification.
I watch the city smear past the window; lights dragged into lines by speed. “Feels busier than usual.”
“It’s Melbourne,” Elias replies. “She doesn’t sleep. Just changes moods.”
I almost smile. “Sounds like someone I know.”
We ride in a comfortable silence as the Audi climbs toward the residential skyline. My phone buzzes again another message I ignore. I’m too aware of the weight in my chest, the truth I haven’t spoken, the life she doesn’t know I have. A CEO. A manwith a penthouse. A man with people who depend on him. A man with secrets.
A man terrified she’ll walk away when she sees all of it.
When we reach the tower, Elias parks underground and steps out quickly to open my door. “Everything’s ready upstairs. Groceries stocked, linens fresh, and Mei left dinner warming.”
“Tell her I said thank you.” I pause. “And that her towels are the only reason I tolerate coming back.”
Elias huffs. “She’ll pretend to be insulted, but she’ll be pleased.”
The lift hums as it rises. My floor, the top floor, opens with that familiar soft chime. The hallway is warm, lights dimmed low, the way I prefer after travel. The scent hits first: star anise, rosemary, and something sweet Mei must’ve baked just because she felt like it.
The door is already unlocked.
Mei always leaves it that way when she knows I’m minutes out.
Inside, the penthouse glows. Lamps on. Windows open to the skyline. Food set out on the kitchen island under glass cloches. My bedroom door cracked open, revealing the soft fall of fresh linen, the careful fold of my nightshirt across the bed. Towels stacked like cloud layers in the ensuite.
Everything touched with care.
Everything touched with intention.
I stand there for a moment, letting the quiet sink into me, letting the sense of being looked after soften the sharp edges of the day.
But it only makes me think of her.
Penn.
Sweet, fractured Penn with her grief tucked behind her ribs and her heart stitched together by hope and fear and something I want more than I know how to say.
I shower, steam rising around me, washing off airports and uncertainty. The water is too hot but grounding. I brace one hand on the slick tile, inhaling the citrus scent Mei stocks because she says it clears “bad energy.”
I need to believe that.
When I step out, I wrap a towel around my waist, pour myself a whiskey over ice, add a wedge of lime, her favourite smell on me, though she doesn’t know why yet and walk barefoot to the window.
Melbourne sprawls beneath me. A pulse. A beast. A promise.
I sip and let it burn down my throat.
How the hell am I going to tell her?
How do I explain the man I am here? How do I show her that I’m not hiding out of deceit, but out of fear, real fear that once she sees the whole picture, she’ll think I’m too much, too established, too complicated?
I press my forehead to the glass.
“I can’t lose her,” I murmur to the city lights. “Not after everything.”
