"Why?" Audrey whispered, her dark eyes entirely stripped of their anger, leaving only pure, desperate confusion. "Why doyou want us back so badly, Simon? After everything you did... why are you fighting so hard for this?"
Simon stopped. He sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress. The dim light from the hallway illuminated the sheer, naked honesty in his face.
"Because I love you," Simon said, his voice thick and wavering. "Because the thought of waking up for the rest of my life and not seeing you is the only thing that has ever truly terrified me. What I did in that hotel room... it wasn't a lack of love, Rey. It was cowardice. I was weak, and I broke under the pressure of my own life. But there was never a single second, even at my worst, where I stopped loving you."
A single tear slipped out of the corner of Audrey's eye, soaking into the pillowcase. The alcohol made it impossible to build her walls back up.
"Sleep here," Audrey breathed, her grip tightening slightly on his wrist. "Just sleep."
Simon’s breath caught in his throat. He looked at her, searching her face to make sure she meant it. Slowly, he took off his jacket and his shoes. He walked around to the other side of the bed, lifted the duvet, and climbed in beside her.
Audrey shifted closer to the warmth of his body. Simon hesitated for a fraction of a second before carefully wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. He buried his face in her dark hair, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Audrey finally opened her eyes the next morning, the room was bathed in bright sunlight. Her head pounded with a fierce, throbbing ache, and her mouth felt like cotton.
She shifted in the bed. The space beside her was empty, the sheets already cold.
A sharp pang of disappointment flared in her chest, but before it could fully settle, the bedroom door gently pushed open.
Simon walked in, still wearing his t-shirt from the night before. He was holding a steaming ceramic mug and a small glass of water. Two white ibuprofen pills rested in the palm of his hand.
He walked over to her side of the bed and set the coffee on the nightstand.
"Drink this," Simon said softly, offering her the water and the pills.
Audrey sat up slowly, pulling the duvet over her chest. She took the pills from his hand, their fingers brushing. She swallowed them down with the water, then wrapped both hands around the hot mug of coffee.
She looked up at him. The intense, alcohol-fueled vulnerability of the night before was gone, replaced by the sober, complicated reality of the morning. But the heavy, suffocating hostility that had defined their relationship for the past two months was missing.
In its place was a fragile, incredibly tentative truce.
Chapter 32
Simon
Simon stood perfectly still beside the bed, his heart hammering a heavy, erratic rhythm against his ribs. He watched Audrey swallow the ibuprofen and wrap her hands around the warm ceramic mug.
The morning sun illuminated the exhaustion in her face, the faint smudges of last night’s makeup beneath her eyes. He braced himself. He fully expected her to set the coffee down, point to the door, and tell him to get out. He knew the alcohol had lowered her defenses last night, and he was terrified that the sober reality of the morning would bring all the hostility rushing right back.
But just the memory of her asking him to stay—of climbing into that bed, feeling her warmth, and breathing in her familiar scent while she slept—had been enough to calm his racing heart for a few precious hours. He knew he had missed her every single day, but he only realized exactly how much he missed her when he finally held her in his arms again last night.
Audrey took a slow sip of the coffee, her dark eyes lifting to meet his over the rim of the mug.
"Sit down, Simon," she said quietly.
It wasn't a demand, but an invitation. Simon let out a shallow breath and carefully lowered himself onto the very edge of the mattress, keeping a respectful distance. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together to keep them from shaking.
"How is your head?" he asked, his voice low and incredibly gentle.
"It hurts," Audrey admitted, staring down into her coffee. "But not as much as the rest of it."
She was quiet for a long moment. Simon didn't push. He just sat there, willing to wait as long as she needed.
"I need to understand the buildup," Audrey finally said, her voice steady but laced with a heavy, unavoidable pain. "You told me about the warehouse, and the hotel room. But I need to know about the weeks before that. Did you flirt with her at the office? Were you exchanging texts with her while you were sitting on the couch with Lily and me? How did it escalate right under my nose without me noticing a thing?"
Simon swallowed hard, the shame rising hot and thick in his throat. He hated the man in her questions, but he had promised her the entire truth, no matter how ugly it was.
"It was gradual," Simon rasped, looking down at his hands. "At first, it was just her being overly enthusiastic. She would praise my ideas during pitch meetings. Then she started finding reasons to linger after the rest of the team left the conference room. She would ask for my advice on her career, telling me how much she looked up to me."
