She set her coffee down, untying the belt of her robe slightly, and closed the distance between them.
“You’re working too hard,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper. She reached out, her fingers brushing the damp, dark hair at the nape of his neck.She stepped into his space, tilting her chin up, fully intending to press her lips to his.Let’s go back upstairs,she wanted to say.Let’s just stay in bed and forget the world.
David flinched.
It was a sharp, visceral movement. He stepped back so quickly that her hand fell uselessly into the empty air between them. He turned his shoulder, creating a physical barrier.
“I’m completely gross, Rose,” he said, his voice clipped as he backed toward the hallway. He offered an apologetic, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I need a shower. I smell like the pavement. Let me clean up, and we’ll have breakfast together, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered, her arm dropping heavily to her side.
He was already gone, his footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. Rosália stood entirely alone in the massive kitchen, the physical sting of his rejection blossoming hot and heavy in her chest. It felt like a slap. She closed her eyes, swallowing the thick, painful lump in her throat.It’s just sweat,she told herself firmly, gripping the edge of the marble counter until her fingers ached.He’s just stressed. Don’t make it something it’s not.
By eight o’clock that evening, the morning’s sharp ache had been meticulously painted over with the glossy veneer of a perfect date night.
To Rosália’s absolute surprise, David had emerged from his shower and told her to wear something nice. He had managed to secure a last-minute table atLe Petit Verdot, a dimly lit, impossibly exclusive French restaurant they hadn’t visited since their fifth anniversary.
Now, surrounded by the glow of crystal chandeliers, the clinking of heavy silver, and the low, elegant murmur of the city’s elite, Rosália felt a fragile, desperate spark of hope. She wore a deep emerald silk dress that draped elegantly across her collarbones, a dark red lip, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like they were actually a couple playing on the same team.
“I was so surprised when you said we were coming here,” Rosália said, tracing the rim of her wine glass. She smiled across the candlelit table, practically drinking in the sight of him in his tailored suit. “We barely go out, just the two of us, anymore. I’m really happy, David.”
“You deserve it,” he said, offering a charming smile. But as he spoke, his eyes drifted over her shoulder. His gaze tracked upward, fixing intensely on the mezzanine level of the restaurant—a cordoned-off, VIP area draped in heavy velvet curtains.
Rosália tried to ignore the distraction, fighting to keep his attention. “I had a massive breakthrough at the gallery yesterday,” she continued, leaning forward, her voice animated with genuine passion. “Mateo, that brilliant abstract artist I’ve been courting for six months? He finally agreed to do an exclusive exhibition with Lumen. It’s going to be a huge draw for the fall season. I was thinking of—”
David nodded, taking a slow sip of his wine, but his eyes were completely glazed over. He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’teven pretending to listen. His gaze flicked obsessively back to the top floor, his jaw ticking with a heavy, hidden tension.
Rosália’s voice trailed off.
The silence hung between them, thick and humiliating. Her shoulders slumped, the fragile hope in her chest shattering into dust. The familiar, crushing weight of invisibility settled back into her bones. She looked down at her lap, suddenly feeling entirely foolish in her expensive silk dress. She was pouring her heart out to a wall.
As if suddenly sensing the devastating drop in her energy, David snapped his attention back to her. A flash of guilt crossed his features. He reached frantically across the white linen tablecloth, catching her hand and lacing his warm fingers tightly through hers. He lifted her knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering, desperate kiss against her skin.
“I’m sorry, my love. I’m just so distracted by how beautiful you look tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, hypnotic cadence that had made her fall in love with him all those years ago. “That dress is stunning on you. I really am a lucky man.”
Rosália’s breath hitched. Despite the hurt, her traitorous heart gave a sudden, excited race. The genuine heat in his eyes and the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers felt like a lifeline. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him how much she loved him, how much she missed him—
“Good evening.”
The voice sliced through the intimate moment like a heavy blade. It was deep, thick, and resonated with a rough,commanding timber that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards.
Rosália felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine. She turned her head.
Standing beside their table was Sean.
He looked utterly, terrifyingly devastating. He wore a bespoke midnight-blue suit, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, stripping away the billionaire-boardroom formality and leaving pure, intimidating masculinity in its place. The dim, flickering candlelight caught the silver threading through his dark hair, making his sharp, handsome features look almost feral.
Clinging to his arm was Katherine, looking vibrant and entirely out of place in a tight, sparkling gold dress, her blonde hair falling in perfect, bouncy waves.
“Sean. Katherine,” Rosália breathed, recovering her composure. She subtly pulled her hand out of David’s grasp, acutely aware of how suffocatingly small the restaurant suddenly felt. “What a surprise.”
“We were just at a dinner with some old friends of mine who are visiting town,” Sean said, his dark, heavy eyes fixed entirely on Rosália. The intensity of his stare felt like a physical weight against her skin. “We were just leaving.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Rosália said politely.
David cleared his throat, his posture going utterly rigid. He looked as though he had swallowed glass. He barely glanced at the young woman hanging on Sean’s arm. “Katherine,” he clipped out, his tone entirely dismissive and freezing cold.
Katherine flinched slightly. Her eyes darted nervously to David for a fraction of a second before she immediately focused all her bright, frantic energy on Rosália.
