She glanced at him sideways. “Definitely not this… it feels like you.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. He didn’t push for a response. Simply let the silence stretch out—quiet and unspoken, hanging there like a held breath.
She looked past him, to the garden. To the city beyond it, veiled in a quiet that felt almost sacred. The hush of it all both settled and twisted inside her.
And her heart, loud and unruly, thudded against her ribs. Something had changed. Not in what was said, but what wasn’t. And that was what scared her most—not the stalker, not the roses, not even the shadows she hadn’t outrun.
It was this.
The open door.
The chance she hadn’t expected.
?
Across the street, Colton leaned into the supple leather of the SUV’s driver’s seat, fingers tapping out some slow, aimless rhythm on the wheel. His eyes didn’t leave the glowing windows.
He didn’t bother hiding it.
Didn’t care if anyone saw.
A billionaire with all the money in the damn world, and the guy was playing house in a brownstone like a middle-class art dealer. Jesus.
Then, he’d seen the kiss.
Seen Arden’s body ease into it, like she wanted that kind of trouble. Amateur move.
He lifted his phone, snapped a photo, and sent it off without ceremony.
Colton: She’s here. They’re comfortable. More than expected.
A pause. Then the reply.
Aunt Evelyn: Keep tabs. I want everything.
Of course, you do,Colton thought, slipping the phone back into his jacket. The picture-perfect moment across the street wouldn’t last. It never did.
And Arden? Sooner or later, she’d crack. They all did.
And when she did, he’d be there. Not to help. To report.
To watch her fall apart, one piece at a time.
?
Dinner wasn’t elaborate; it was beef stew, rich and hearty, ladled from a cast-iron Dutch oven Gideon pulled from a warming tray.
It felt… intimate.
The savory, earthy scent wrapped around them like the soft glow of string lights. Like the city exhaling. Like the warmth of him.
Arden arched a brow as he lifted the lid.
“You’re serving stew?” she teased, half-laugh, half-curiosity. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Gideon laughed under his breath, warm and unbothered, and reached for the wine.
“My grandfather used to make it when I was a kid,” he said, pouring into two glasses. His voice carried a softer edge, shaped by memory. “Said simple food tells the best stories.”
