He didn't tell her where they were going.
Leon just showed up at the penthouse one Friday afternoon with an overnight bag already packed for her.
"Dress warm," he said, brushing a kiss to her temple. "We'll be back Sunday."
Aria blinked. "Do I get to ask questions?"
"You could."
She smirked. "Will I get answers?"
His only reply was a crooked smile and a hand outstretched.
The drive took hours.
They left the city behind slowly — skyscrapers fading to trees, horns to birdsong, tension to quiet. Somewhere along the winding road, Aria leaned her head against the window and fell asleep.
Leon didn't wake her.
Just drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between them — not touching, but close enough to feel her warmth.
When they arrived, it was dusk.
The cabin sat nestled in a grove of fir trees, wrapped in soft golden light. It wasn't ostentatious — no security gates, no smart locks, no marble or glass.
Just wood. Stone. A porch swing.
It looked like someone's home.
Not a billionaire's retreat.
Aria stepped out of the car, hugging herself against the chill.
"This is yours?"
Leon nodded. "No staff. No cameras. No signal."
She turned slowly, taking it all in.
"You come here often?"
He hesitated. "Not in years."
Aria turned back to him.
Then took his hand.
"Thank you for bringing me."
Inside, it was warm and quiet. A fire was already crackling — Leon had called ahead to have it prepped, but not lit.
He did that himself.
And when he turned, he found Aria curled into the couch, one of his sweaters swallowing her whole, a blanket across her legs.
She looked… content.
Not glamorous.
Not provocative.
Just real.
And so stunning it stole his breath.
"Do you ever miss the noise?" she asked later, after dinner, her voice soft against the quiet.
Leon shook his head. "The noise never made me feel less alone."
She glanced at him. "And this?"
He looked down at her fingers, which were loosely twined with his.
"This feels like the first time I've ever been quiet without being lonely."
That night, they didn't make love.
They undressed slowly, wordlessly, slipped under the flannel sheets with their bodies warm from firelight and wine. They held each other, bare skin against bare skin, and let the stillness say everything their mouths didn't.
Aria's fingers traced the line of a scar on his chest.
He flinched slightly.
"Accident?" she asked softly.
"Anger," he replied. "Mine."
He didn't elaborate.
She didn't ask him to.
She just kissed it.
And whispered, "You're not him anymore."
In the middle of the night, Aria woke and found him standing on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching the stars.
She joined him quietly, pressing her body into his side.
He looked down at her.
Then murmured, "My father used to bring me here. Before things got complicated."
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just waited.
Leon's voice was quiet. "He was the first person I ever saw become less human because of power. The moment he got it, he stopped needing anyone."
"You've never stopped needing people," Aria said gently. "You just stopped trusting them."
He turned to her.
"I trust you."
She smiled.
"Then let me stay."
They fell asleep in each other's arms again, the cabin wrapped around them like a secret.
In the morning, she cooked eggs.
He burned the toast.
And for once, they laughed like it didn't matter that the world would come for them the moment they returned.
Because here, in this pocket of silence, they weren't billionaire and model.
They weren't story or scandal.
They were just two people trying to love each other, one heartbeat at a time.