Curled up on the couch, towel-dried hair damp and skin still cooling, Arden felt exhaustion pulling at her edges, blurring the sharpness of her thoughts.
She’d spent the afternoon at The Blackwell Room, digging into the machinery behind the glamour, seeing how the place operated beneath all that polish.
She kept her focus sharp, diving into ledger updates, scheduling notes, the everyday minutiae hidden behind luxury.
But Gideon was there.
And she felt him.
The awareness that crackled like static in the air.
The way his eyes tracked her when he thought she wasn’t looking. As though cataloging her every move.
She did her best to maintain her composure, but the sense of him lingered. A current beneath the surface. Impossible to ignore.
Her mind was restless when Penny flopped onto the couch beside her, a technicolor blanket wrapped tight around her small frame. Arden had long since given up questioning where she found them. Against all odds, Penny made neon look like home.
"You’ve been weird today," Penny announced, stealing a piece of naan from Arden’s plate.
Arden raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for that deep analysis.”
“I’m serious.” Penny tore the naan in half, waving it for emphasis. “You’ve been all broody and intense, and usually, I would assume that means a certain brooding billionaire was involved, but since you’re not glaring into the distance and sighing dramatically, I’m thinking this is something else.”
Arden scoffed. “I do not sigh dramatically.”
Penny just stared at her.
Arden rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch. “I went to the Krav Maga studio this morning. That’s probably why I’m quiet. I’m just tired.”
Penny made a doubtful sound but didn’t press. “I’m guessing you threw some people around?”
Arden shrugged. “It’s not about that. It’s about control. About knowing you can handle yourself.”
Something in her voice must have given her away, because Penny shifted, expression softening.
“Yeah,” she said, quieter now. “I get that.”
A beat of silence passed.
The kind that invited truth.
Penny hesitated, then asked, “Was that always something you worried about?”
Arden glanced down at her wine glass, fingers tapping the stem.
She knew where Penny was leading.
And she was too tired to sidestep it.
“You never talk about your family,” Penny said, careful. Not pushing.
Arden inhaled slowly.
She could keep deflecting. Keep burying it.
Or she could let someone see it.
Even a little.
