Harley
The sun was barely up when I stepped out of my flat, but Levi was already there.
Exactly 07:00. Not a second late. I wasn't even surprised anymore.
He stood by the car, as always — black, sleek, and spotless. His posture rigid, hands clasped in front of him, as if he were guarding Buckingham Palace and not just escorting me to work. The moment he saw me approach, he opened the car door without a word.
"Morning," I murmured, stepping inside.
He gave a small nod. "Good morning."
When I settled into the leather seat, I noticed something in the cupholder. A takeaway cup — my usual coffee order — and a neatly wrapped sandwich.
I blinked at it. "You didn't have to—"
"You didn't eat breakfast yesterday," he cut in softly, climbing into the driver's seat.
He didn't look at me. Just adjusted the rear-view mirror and pulled away from the curb like this was normal. Maybe it was, now.
Still, I reached for the sandwich, unwrapping it slowly. "Thanks," I said, quieter this time.
The roads were quiet. I ate as the city stirred around us — the gentle hum of morning radio playing low, the occasional sigh of a passing car. I stole a glance at Levi. His eyes were on the road, his expression unreadable.
I wondered, briefly, what went on in that head of his.
~~~
At the office, I stepped into the lobby with Levi trailing behind me at his usual respectful distance — not too close, not too far.
The security guard gave me a quick nod, and Levi, as usual, earned a double-take. It happened often. He had that… look. Dangerous. Controlled. People instinctively respected it — or avoided it.
When I got to my office, I paused at the door. Levi stopped just outside, arms folded, gaze sweeping over the corridor like he always did. I slipped inside and shut the door.
First thing: I checked my schedule.
08:30 – Team Debrief.
11:00 – Meeting with Gabriella Dupont.
14:00 – Lunch with Steve.
I scrolled through my emails while sipping the last of my coffee, then stood and smoothed down my blazer. I had to brief my team about Gabriella and the gala — her charity gala-slash-fashion fundraiser. Last night's meeting had actually been… fun. Gabriella was young, bubbly, a little chaotic — but magnetic. And kind. I hadn't expected that.
I headed down to the design floor.
Everyone was already gathering by the main board. My team — some seasoned, some new — waited with clipboards and caffeine, ready to be told what whirlwind was coming their way.
"Okay," I began, clapping lightly to get their attention. "Gabriella Dupont's team has greenlit the collaboration. Venue is a restored art gallery in Notting Hill. Think rich textures, moody lighting, late Victorian bones with modern silhouettes. I want something bold but elegant — not flashy. Old money with a rebellious streak."
A few heads nodded.
I scanned the room and picked six designers I knew could handle the creative weight. "I'll be working closely with these six for now. You'll have access to the concept board and event details by midday. We have three months, but our first draft concepts are due next Friday."
There were murmurs, scribbled notes, a shared glance of challenge among the chosen.
"Any questions?"
"Is she as intense as her Instagram makes her look?" one of the younger assistants whispered.
I cracked a smile. "She's actually… really cool."
~~~
By 10:55, I was back in my office.
Levi stood at his usual post just outside. I didn't acknowledge him — didn't need to. That was our rhythm now.
At 11:00 sharp, Gabriella strolled into my office like a gust of champagne-scented wind.
"Darling! Good morning!" she beamed.
She wore oversized sunglasses — inside, of course — a silk scarf wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet, and a lip colour that could only be described as scandalous red.
"You're punctual," I said, offering her a seat.
She waved her hand. "Only for fabulous people."
We got down to business — surprisingly fast. She was chatty, yes, but when it came to the event, Gabriella had a vision. And I appreciated that.
"So," she said, scrolling through moodboards I displayed on the screen, "I want this theme — the legacy of fashion. Like, vintage meets future. The ghost of Chanel with a punk edge. Old money"
I blinked. "You're very specific."
"Blame my therapist. I've been journaling."
I snorted before I could stop myself. "Noted. And the venue's confirmed?"
"Yes, my team just locked it in this morning." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You know, I've worked with big names before. But you… you've got an edge. I like that."
I gave a tight smile, not sure what to say.
As we wrapped up an hour later, she stood and sauntered toward the door — only to pause when she caught sight of Levi standing guard outside.
Her eyes widened. "Okay, hello tall and dangerous."
I arched a brow. "That's my bodyguard."
"Mmm." Gabriella smirked. "They always say that. You know, I once fell head over heels for mine."
I gave her a dry look. "He's not my type."
"Please. Everyone has one." She grinned wider. "Besides, how long have you been single?"
"I'm not. I have Steve."
Gabriella's head tilted. "When was the last time you and Steve went on a date?"
That shut me up.
She gave a knowing glance. "Exactly."
Gabriella walked out, but not before brushing Levi's arm with a flirtatious grin. He didn't even flinch. Just gave a polite nod, eyes forward. As always.
Still… I noticed the way his jaw twitched.
I hated that I noticed.
~~~
By the time the clock crept toward 1:55 p.m., I'd already checked my phone five times.
No message.
Not even a "running late."
Still, I stood from my desk and smoothed down my blouse. I tried not to think about how long it had been since Steve and I had shared a real conversation that didn't revolve around logistics or calendar invites.
Levi didn't comment when I stepped into the hallway.
He simply fell into place behind me — silent, steady, always there.
We took the lift down to the lobby in silence. I could feel him there, his presence like a constant hum in the background. Not comforting. Not unwelcome. Just… there.
When we arrived at the restaurant — a small, quiet Italian spot I'd picked because it used to be our favourite — the hostess led me to a corner booth tucked near the window.
Steve wasn't there yet.
I sat. Waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Levi stood at the front, back to the wall, scanning the room like he always did — as if danger might leap out from behind a salad bar. He didn't so much as glance my way, but I knew he was watching.
At 2:26, Steve finally walked in.
He looked polished, as always — a tailored blazer, designer sunglasses, the kind of clean-shaven face that came from a lifestyle where things like spa appointments were scheduled weekly. He spotted me, offered a quick wave, and crossed the room with long strides.
"Sorry," he said, sliding into the booth beside me, not across from me. He didn't kiss me. Not even on the cheek. "Meeting ran over."
"It's okay," I said, even though it wasn't.
He pulled out his phone immediately and started scrolling.
We sat like that for another minute. The waiter arrived and I ordered for both of us. I still remembered his usual: penne arrabbiata, light on the chilli.
Steve mumbled a thanks, still staring at his screen.
"What's so important?" I asked finally, trying to sound casual.
"Just checking something with the board," he replied, fingers tapping rapidly. "We've got a proposal going through this week."
He didn't look at me.
I sipped my water and looked out the window. London was grey today. Moody. Damp. The kind of weather that clung to your skin and made you feel heavy.
When the food arrived, Steve put his phone down — but only briefly. He ate quickly, barely tasting it, glancing at his wristwatch between bites.
I'd planned to tell him about Gabriella's project. About how it could finally get my designs on an international platform. About how Gabriella had said she liked my edge.
But the words never came.
I just sat there, chewing slowly, nodding at his half-hearted questions about work, giving vague answers because I didn't think he really cared.
"I might have to leave soon," he said mid-meal, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I've got to get back to the office."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"You just got here."
"I know, babe. I'm sorry."
He leaned in then — finally — and kissed my cheek. It was soft. Perfunctory. The kind of kiss you give your mum after Sunday lunch.
And then he stood.
"I'll call you later?"
I nodded, too numb to answer.
He left without looking back.
I stared at my barely-touched plate. The air felt heavier now, the silence louder. I blinked a few times, hoping the stinging in my eyes would stop.
It didn't.
I pushed the food away and stood slowly. My hands were shaking. I reached for my phone and texted Levi
Me: "Can you come get me?"
The reply came seconds later.
Levi: "Already outside."
The car was warm.
Levi opened the door without a word and I slipped inside, curling up against the seat as the city passed me by in a blur of grey and movement.
I didn't cry. Not yet. But my throat felt tight — like something was lodged there, like I'd swallowed a stone and it hadn't gone down.
Levi drove in silence. No radio. No questions.
I think that's what I appreciated most about him. He didn't ask me how I was. He didn't try to fix things. He just… let me be.
When we pulled up outside my building, I hesitated before getting out.
He finally looked at me. Not in a prying way. Just… watching. Waiting.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded. "Call if you need anything."
I nodded, eyes burning.
Then I turned and walked inside.
My flat was still. Quiet. Too quiet.
I stood in the doorway for a minute, not moving. The smell of citrus cleaner clung to the air — my cleaner had been by this morning. The cushions were perfectly aligned, the rug freshly vacuumed.
It didn't feel like home.
I kicked off my shoes and padded toward the bathroom. The hot water helped, for a moment. I let it burn against my skin, let the steam fill my lungs. I stood there longer than I should've, fingers pressed against the cool tile wall, breathing in the silence.
Afterwards, I threw on a pair of leggings and an oversized jumper. Curled into the corner of the sofa with a blanket and Netflix open on the screen.
I scrolled until I found an old K-drama I'd loved years ago. The kind where the male lead was emotionally constipated, but somehow still devastatingly loyal.
I pressed play.
I didn't cry during the first episode. Or the second.
But somewhere in the third, when the girl confessed her love and he just stood there, staring blankly — something in me cracked.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin and let it fall apart quietly.
Not loudly. Not in a sobbing, cinematic way.
Just in little gasps. The kind you swallow so no one hears you.
I didn't realise I'd fallen asleep until my phone buzzed with a soft ping.
It was a message.
From Levi.
Levi: "Let me know if you're staying in. I'll adjust tomorrow's schedule accordingly."
I stared at the screen.
Three words formed in my mind. I didn't type them.
Please don't leave.
Instead, I wrote:
Me: "I'll be in all day. Thanks."
He didn't reply. He didn't need to.
I set the phone down, curled into the sofa, and let sleep take me again.