The skyline was grey when Gage woke. Quiet rain on glass, the kind that blurred the city into outlines. The penthouse felt still.
He made coffee—black. Reached for his phone only when he sat down.
One new notification.
Tier 4 Proximity Record | Status: Severance request retracted by initiating party | Timestamp: 06:31 a.m.
Gage looked at the line for a moment.
Then he breathed in, deep and steady, like the body does when the peril is gone, even if the mind never named it.
Not because he’d won.
Because she’d taken the thing he gave her—choice—and still chose to stand beside him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Is that it?” Bea breathed as the car slowed and the forest finally thinned.
The cabin before them was made of hand-hewn timber, a wall of glass facing a white-laced forest, and a stone chimney so tall it could have its own staff. Even the snowdrifts looked expensive—piled high and undisturbed, like they’d been combed into place.
Gage pulled the car into the garage. Beneath the collar, he was still wearing the tie she’d given him as a gift that morning. Deep blue silk, the exact shade of his eyes right before he kissed her. She’d chosen it for that reason. Looped it around his neck, and tied it carefully, smoothing the knot flat with her fingers.
He looked like some gorgeous corporate villain halfway into his rural redemption arc.
“Let’s head in,” he said.
There was already a fire going when they entered, absurdly festive for late June.So thiswas Christmas in July. Weirdly cozy. Weirdly…accurate. She wondered how long before she stopped noticing the seasons were backwards, or if part of her would always keep track.
The living room looked like a billionaire had tried to rough it, then changed his mind halfway through and brought in a designer from Milan. Cavernous ceilings of warm wood, the fireplace stacked with real river stones, and the view out the window all snow-dusted firs and dusky sky.
Bea removed her coat and slid off her shoes before wandering inside, her feet soundless against the plush rug. She wandered past the kitchen island and paused. A bottle of wine sat on the counter, already uncorked.
She lifted it slightly. “You bought the one I like.”
Gage shrugged off his coat behind her. “You only like it because you can pronounce it.”
She turned just enough to shoot him a look. “That’s an important part of liking things.”
His mouth ticked up on one side, but he said nothing.
She moved toward the window wall. The dusk was deepening now, casting everything in lavender-grey.
“There’s no service up here,” he said.
“So it’s just you and me.”
“Yes.”
“Two whole days without work emails.”
He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. “Exactly.”
“That almost makes up for us being in the coldest place in the UR.” She sighed.
“I know you don’t love the cold.” He turned her in his arms. “But I wasn’t planning for us to leave the cabin anyway.”
A whole year, and she still couldn’t believe she got to have this. Him. Here.
