Elara didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the echo of Xander's kiss still burning on her lips. Her heart felt like a ticking time bomb, and her thoughts raced in every direction—confused, guilty, and worst of all… hopeful.
That kiss wasn't supposed to happen.
But it had.
And now, everything felt uncertain.
She turned to look at the empty side of the bed. Xander hadn't come in after her. Maybe he was trying to cool off. Or maybe he regretted everything.
The thought made her stomach twist.
Downstairs in the study, Xander stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand, untouched.
He wasn't the kind of man to lose control. He built empires on strategy, on sharp decisions and restraint. But tonight—he'd broken every rule he'd set for himself.
He'd kissed her.
He'd kissed his wife—not out of obligation, not as a cover—but because he couldn't stand seeing her with someone else.
The fire in her eyes, the way she stood up for herself, the fact that she had the courage to walk away from both men on that rooftop… God, she was everything he hadn't known he wanted.
And that terrified him.
The next morning was awkward.
Elara was already dressed and seated at the table, stirring her tea without drinking it. When Xander walked in, she didn't even glance his way.
He cleared his throat. "Morning."
She looked up. "Morning."
Silence.
He poured himself a cup of black coffee and sat across from her. For a long moment, they just sat—her eyes fixed on the table, his on her.
Finally, he spoke. "About last night…"
She shook her head. "Don't. Don't explain. Don't apologize. Let's just move on."
He frowned. "You want to pretend it didn't happen?"
"Isn't that what we've been doing since the wedding?" she said softly, bitterness lacing her tone.
"Elara—"
"I can't keep up with your mixed signals, Xander. One moment you're cold and distant, the next you're jealous and kissing me like it means something."
He looked stricken for a beat. "It did mean something."
She froze.
"I just don't know what to do about it yet."
She met his eyes, her defenses cracking. "Then figure it out. Because I'm tired of being caught in the middle."
Later that day, Elara stood in front of the Thorne Corporation's headquarters, debating whether to go in. After everything that had happened, she still had responsibilities as the CEO's wife. Appearances mattered.
But her heart wasn't in it today.
"Mrs. Thorne," a voice greeted.
She turned to see Lucinda Thorne—Xander's stepmother—gliding toward her in a crimson blazer and heels sharp enough to pierce egos.
"Lucinda," Elara said with a polite nod.
"Rumor has it you made quite the scene last night. With Damien Montgomery, no less."
Elara stiffened. "Funny. I didn't realize gossip traveled faster than light in this city."
Lucinda smiled sweetly. "Everything travels faster when money and power are involved. You should be more careful. One scandal and you'll lose the fragile hold you have on the Thorne name."
"I'm not trying to hold anything," Elara said, voice firm.
Lucinda stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You may not care about the power, but others do. If you fall out of favor, I promise someone else will be ready to take your place."
Elara tilted her head. "Like you?"
Lucinda's smile vanished for half a second.
Checkmate.
That evening, Elara found herself outside a modest bakery tucked into a quiet side street. She'd found it by accident on a walk months ago, back when everything had just started. It was her secret spot. Peaceful. Warm.
She needed that now.
The owner, Mrs. Li, greeted her with a kind smile. "You look like you need extra chocolate today."
"You have no idea," Elara replied with a tired laugh.
As she sat at the corner table with a cup of cocoa and a slice of triple-chocolate cake, her phone buzzed.
Xander: Dinner tonight? I want to talk. Just us.
She stared at the screen.
This could be the beginning of something.
Or the end.
The restaurant was quiet, a private booth waiting for them near a window with a soft view of the city lights. Xander stood when she arrived, pulling out her chair. No small talk. No sarcasm.
Just… sincerity.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
"I almost didn't."
"I know."
He watched her carefully, then exhaled. "I've never been good at feelings, Elara. My father taught me that emotions were weaknesses. That love was a distraction. But you've turned every rule I believed into chaos."
She said nothing.
"I can't promise I'll get everything right. But I can promise I'll try. If… you're still willing."
Elara's eyes searched his, wary but soft. "And if I say yes, what changes?"
He reached across the table, taking her hand gently. "Everything."
For the first time in weeks, her heart didn't feel like it was caught in a storm. It felt… hopeful.
"I'm willing," she whispered.
Back at the penthouse, the air between them shifted again—but this time, it wasn't heavy with uncertainty. It buzzed with anticipation.
Xander poured two glasses of wine. "To new beginnings?"
"To honesty," she said.
They clinked glasses.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Can I kiss you again?"
She smiled. "That depends."
"On?"
"Whether this time… it actually means something."
He didn't hesitate.
The kiss was softer than the last—less urgency, more intention. It was a promise, not a possession. When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his.
"I think we just crossed the line," she murmured.
"Good," he whispered. "Because I don't plan on going back."