The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. I looked up just in time to see Lucien appear, sleeves rolled up, casually holding a glass of water.
"Lira," he said, "you can rest for today. Tomorrow we'll start our work. You're free to go outside, explore, familiarize yourself with the place."
"Thank you, Lucien." I hesitated, and then asked before I could stop myself, "You? What are you up to?"
He blinked at me, surprised at the question. Then, softer, "Just reading in my room. I brought a lot of books from the States."
Books.
I hadn't touched a good one in a while. There was always work, always pressure. I missed the quiet of it—the escape.
"I've been meaning to read," I admitted, voice lower now. "Can I borrow one of yours?"
Lucien's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Come up to the study with me. The books are all laid out there—you can choose anything. It's yours."
He said it so simply, so openly.
It's yours.
Something about the way he said it made me pause.
Maybe I should've been suspicious. Maybe I should've shut the door and kept my distance.
But instead, I followed him.
Not because I trusted him.
But because, for once, I wanted to feel like something—anything—was mine too.
As I scanned the towering shelves of the study, I was stunned—almost every book I'd ever wanted to read was here. Classics, contemporary fiction, historical, philosophical—lined up perfectly like they were waiting for me.
Now I couldn't choose.
I should've just asked Lucien for a recommendation instead of pretending I could decide on my own. With a sigh, I turned around and searched the room.
Then I saw him.
Lucien was sitting on the couch near the window, the late afternoon light casting warm shadows on his face. His eyes were focused on a book in his hands, and—for the first time—I noticed he was wearing glasses. It softened his sharp features, made him look almost…ordinary. Human.
I glanced at the cover of his book.
The Old Man and the Sea
Ernest Hemingway.
I knew that one. I had read it before, in another life, one filled with exhaustion and quiet battles no one saw. The old man's quiet resilience reminded me of myself—how I kept going even when life felt like it was pulling everything away from me.
"That book," I said softly, almost a whisper. "I like it."
Lucien looked up. There was no surprise in his face, just a quiet kind of attention. The kind that makes you feel seen without being judged.
I kept talking, maybe more than I normally would. I needed this project to go smoothly. I needed our dynamic—as boss and employee—to be good. Efficient. Focused. Any other feelings or thoughts had no place here.
"Have you chosen anything yet?" he asked, setting the Hemingway novel aside.
"Actually… I was going to ask you. Can you recommend something? Something light, maybe. It's been a while since I last read."
His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Sure. I'll find you something."
He stood and walked toward the shelf. I followed instinctively, a step behind him, like some silent shadow. His fingers brushed across the spines of the books, moving with purpose, and for a moment I watched him like I was trying to memorize how calm looked on someone.
Then he pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to me.
All the Light We Cannot See
By Anthony Doerr.
I read the title aloud, curious.
He looked at me, eyes steady. "Just like The Old Man and the Sea, this one's about resilience. How people cope with pain, war, and loss—and still fight to create something meaningful out of it. It's quiet. But it stays with you."
I stared at the book. Then back at him.
"Thank you," I murmured.
I took a seat on the couch across from him, opened the first page, and let myself sink into the words. The room fell into silence, but it was the good kind—soft, unspoken, comfortable. From time to time, I felt his gaze flicker toward me. From time to time, I found mine drifting to him.
It was strange.
Silent, but comforting.
Maybe he wasn't that bad after all.
Maybe—just maybe—we could get along.
For the sake of work.
For the sake of peace.
For the sake of this strange new chapter.
Even if something inside me still warned: Don't get too comfortable.
I have to admit—talking to Eros stirred something in me.
Like a weight I didn't realize I'd been carrying was finally lifted off my shoulders.
Like I could breathe a little easier.
It wasn't forgiveness, not exactly.
But maybe it was closure.
For the first time, I acknowledged what he did to me. I stopped romanticizing the pain, stopped masking the control and possessiveness as love. Accepting that it was abuse—real and damaging—somehow made me feel… freer. Like I no longer had to keep those memories buried under pride and denial.
Maybe that's why I feel a little lighter now.
Why I can speak without the usual restraint.
Why the silence between words doesn't choke me as much.
I'm not healed, not even close. I still can't fully show what I feel. Still too guarded, too cautious with my trust. But at least now, I'm trying.
Trying to understand myself.
Trying to figure out what kind of life I want.
Because I've been sad for too long.
And I think… I don't want to be anymore.
Elira's POV
The days started early now—earlier than I was used to back at the main office. The air here in Australia felt different, lighter somehow, but the weight of responsibility hadn't changed.
Lucien and I officially began our work as heads of the new Arcelli Empire branch. This division focused on innovation—cutting-edge technology, AI development, green energy systems, and product integration that could change how people lived. It sounded revolutionary on paper, but building it from the ground up was nothing short of overwhelming.
Every day was a mix of strategy meetings, investor calls, blueprints, prototypes, and progress reports. We had engineers reporting to us, teams drafting software systems, designers building interface models, and labs testing tech that was still years ahead of its time.
And I was supposed to lead all that—with Lucien.
He was focused, sharp, and incredibly hands-on. He didn't just sit and sign documents; he read everything, questioned everything, challenged ideas, and came up with better ones. It was exhausting trying to keep up—but also, in a strange way, exhilarating.
Sometimes I'd catch myself watching him work. His attention to detail. The way he made decisions. The way people listened when he spoke.
But this wasn't about him. This was about me.
This was the opportunity I gave up so much for. I'd burned bridges, ended love, sacrificed comfort and safety for a chance to climb this high.
So I push through the pressure. I show up. I take the lead in meetings. I speak with conviction even when I feel uncertain. Because this is my life now. This is the version of me I fought to become.
Still… there are moments when the silence between us stretches too long. When our eyes meet and say things we never voice. When I wonder what he's thinking. What he's seeing in me.
But I shake it off.
We are here to build something. A future, a legacy, a company that's meant to change the world.
Whatever this is between us—whatever it might become—it has to wait.
For now, we work.
A MONTH LATER
The soft glow of the lamp bathed the room in amber light. Papers were scattered across the long table, half-filled mugs beside laptops that hummed quietly. Outside, the wind rustled the trees gently, the kind of night that made silence feel safe.
Elira leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms with a low sigh.
Lucien glanced up from his screen, a rare smile playing on his lips.
"You sigh like that one more time, and I'll start thinking I'm working you too hard."
"Maybe you are. Or maybe your spreadsheets are just that boring."
He chuckled, setting his glasses down and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Boring means efficient. It means peace."
She nodded, eyes drifting to the window.
"I never thought peace could feel like this. Quiet. Gentle. No expectations pressing against your chest."
He studied her for a long moment, something softer passing through his gaze.
"You've been doing well. Not just with the company. With… everything."
She turned to look at him, one brow raised.
"Is that your professional opinion as my boss? Or your personal one as the man who lives three doors away from me?"
"Both. But mostly the latter."
They sat in the silence that followed, the kind that didn't demand to be filled. It was the kind that made space—for healing, for thinking, for breathing.
"You're not what I expected."
"You either. But… I like the unexpected."
She smiled then. Small. But real.
They sat in the quiet that followed, neither rushing to fill it. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was full of things unsaid, but not urgently so. There was space now—for healing, for breathing, for simply being.
---
Lucien's POV:
She doesn't even realize it—but she's starting to let me in.
Not all at once, not in grand confessions or vulnerable breakdowns, but in quiet ways. In the way she sits with me longer after work, the way she doesn't flinch when our shoulders brush, or how her voice softens when she asks for my opinion.
It's strange. I've had women throw themselves at me, charm me, manipulate me, even fear me. But her? Elira doesn't try to please anyone. She doesn't need to. She's built herself on ruin and strength, on pride and restraint. And still—she's learning to breathe again.
And I'm watching her.
Not as a man obsessed, not anymore. But as someone who's learning to be patient, to earn her trust piece by piece.
I see the way her guard drops when she laughs at my dry humor. I see how her eyes linger on my books, on my hands when I cook, on me—like she's trying to figure me out just as much as I'm trying to understand her.
There's something poetic in it. She's still bruised, still holding herself together like shattered glass stitched with gold, but she's not hiding as much anymore. And I know how hard that is for someone like her—to be seen.
I want to tell her I notice. That even the smallest parts of her she reveals feel like a privilege.
But not yet.
Not until she's ready.
For now, I'll wait. And if she chooses to trust me, truly trust me—I'll make sure she never regrets it.