Crystella
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my hair for the third time, wondering why I cared so much. It was just dinner. Just dinner with Davis. My husband. It sounded strange even in my head—*husband*. We'd been married for months, and yet the word still felt foreign, like a borrowed coat that didn't quite fit.
But tonight, it was different. For the first time since we were bound together by contracts and expectations, I wasn't dreading the thought of spending time with him. In fact, a part of me was… looking forward to it.
I smoothed my dress down one last time, shaking off the nerves that crept in. *It's just dinner,* I reminded myself. But the fact that I was nervous at all was telling. I didn't do nervous. Not anymore.
The restaurant we'd chosen was tucked away on a quiet street in the city—intimate, candlelit, the kind of place where people went when they wanted to be alone with their thoughts, or maybe even each other. When I walked in, Davis was already seated at a table by the window, his posture relaxed as he scanned the menu. He looked up as I approached, offering me that easy smile of his—the one that always seemed to catch me off guard.
"Hey," I greeted, taking the seat across from him.
"Hey," he replied, setting the menu down. "You look nice."
I glanced down at my dress, brushing off the compliment with a nervous laugh. "Thanks."
There was a brief moment of silence as we both settled in, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between us. I wasn't sure what to say. We'd had countless dinners together over the past few months, but those meals had been perfunctory, lifeless—two people going through the motions of a life neither of us had chosen. Tonight, though, felt different. Tonight felt like the beginning of something.
The waiter appeared, and we ordered, our conversation still lingering on the surface. Work, the estate, the usual. But as the food arrived and the wine flowed, the edges of the conversation began to soften.
I wasn't sure why I agreed to the dinner in the first place. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from the presentation. Either way, I found myself sitting across from him at a quiet restaurant, the glow of candlelight casting a soft warmth over his features.
The dinner was supposed to be celebratory, a way to unwind after the stressful investor meeting. Yet, beneath the surface, I could feel the weight of unsaid things between us. Every time I tried to relax, the tension coiled inside me like a spring, ready to snap at any moment.
We fell into another silence, this one softer, less awkward. For once, it felt like we weren't pretending—like we were both acknowledging the reality of what we'd been through. And somehow, that made it easier to talk. Easier to let down some of the walls I'd spent so long building.
"I'm sorry," Davis said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I blinked, taken aback. "Sorry? For what?"
"For all of this," he said, gesturing between us. "For how things turned out. I know you didn't ask for any of it. Neither of us did."
His words sank into me, and I felt the weight of them settle in my chest. He wasn't wrong. This marriage had been forced on both of us, tied together by contracts and family obligations. But for the first time, I realized that maybe—just maybe—he felt just as trapped as I did.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in my throat. What was there to say? That I forgave him? That I didn't hold it against him? That despite everything, I was starting to see him in a different light?
Instead, I just nodded. "I know," I said softly. "But we're here now. We have to make the best of it, right?"
"Yeah," he agreed, his gaze softening. "We do."
As we ate, i realized he had been watching me for the past few minutes, his gaze calm but searching, as though he were trying to read between the lines of what I wasn't saying. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly—just... disarming.
"So," he began, leaning back in his chair. "You did it. The investors were impressed."
I managed a smile. "Thanks. It was a good day."
He raised an eyebrow. "Just 'good?' You crushed it, Crystella. They practically signed on the dotted line before you even finished your presentation."
His compliment caught me off guard. Davis wasn't one to offer praise lightly, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. My instinct was to deflect, to downplay the accomplishment, but something in his expression made me pause.
"It wasn't just about the presentation," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "It was about proving that I could do this on my own—that I'm more than just the Powers name."
Davis nodded, his gaze steady. "I get that. But you've always been more than your name."
I blinked at him, surprised by his words. It was the first time someone had said that to me without an underlying agenda. There was no judgment in his voice, no expectation. Just... understanding.
"Thank you," I said, the words feeling inadequate but genuine. "That means a lot."
The conversation drifted into lighter territory after that, but I couldn't shake the warmth his words had sparked in me. It was strange, feeling this kind of ease with him. I had spent so long keeping people at arm's length, always afraid of letting them in, that I didn't quite know what to do with this sudden sense of... connection.
As we finished our meal, Davis glanced at me over his glass of wine. "What do you say we skip dessert and go to the cinema instead?"
I frowned slightly. "The cinema?"
"Yeah," he said, his smile widening just a little. "You know, where they show movies on a giant screen?"
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. "I know what a cinema is, Davis. It just... surprised me."
"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious. "It's not like we do this kind of thing often."
"That's exactly why," I replied. "It feels... normal."
For a moment, we both sat there in the quiet, the reality of our situation hanging between us. Nothing about our lives had ever been normal—not our marriage, not our families, and certainly not the pressures that came with being part of two powerful legacies.
But maybe that was exactly why a night at the cinema didn't seem like such a bad idea.
"Alright," I said, standing up and grabbing my coat. "Let's go."
The cinema was quieter than I expected for a Friday night, and for a brief moment, I wondered if Davis had intentionally chosen this place for its low-key atmosphere. There were no photographers, no curious eyes watching our every move—just the hum of the popcorn machine and the faint chatter of other moviegoers.
It was... nice.
We chose a movie almost at random, neither of us particularly caring what was playing. It wasn't about the film; it was about the escape. For two hours, we could sit in the dark and not think about our families or our responsibilities. We could just be us.
As the lights dimmed and the previews began to roll, I felt Davis shift beside me. His arm brushed against mine, the casual contact sending a small jolt through me. It wasn't intentional—just a product of the cramped seats—but I couldn't ignore the way my skin tingled at the touch.
For a while, I tried to focus on the movie, but my mind kept wandering back to Davis. There was something about the way he carried himself tonight—calm, steady, almost... protective. It was different from the distant formality that had defined our early interactions. He wasn't just my business partner anymore. He was... something else. Something I wasn't quite ready to define.
Halfway through the movie, I glanced over at him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but there was a softness to his expression that I hadn't noticed before. It made him look... different. More approachable. More human.
I found myself wondering what it would be like to let him in—to stop holding him at a distance and actually allow myself to trust him. The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit.
I had spent so long building walls around myself, afraid of being hurt again, that I wasn't sure I knew how to let them down. Every relationship I'd had in the past had ended in disappointment—either because I couldn't let go of my fear, or because they couldn't handle the weight of who I was. And now, with Davis, the stakes felt even higher.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly restless. The movie droned on in the background, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. My mind was racing, my thoughts tangling together in a mess of uncertainty.
What if I let him in and he left? What if I opened myself up to him and it all fell apart, just like it had with everyone else? Could I handle that kind of heartbreak again?
But what if he didn't leave? What if, for once, someone stayed?
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned my attention back to the screen, trying to focus on the movie. But the questions kept swirling in my mind, refusing to be ignored.
I didn't have an answer. Not yet. But as I sat there, the warmth of Davis's arm brushing against mine, I found myself wanting to find out.
After the movie ended, we stepped outside into the cool night air. The streets were quiet, the sounds of the city muffled by the late hour. Davis walked beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.
But the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was... peaceful.
"That was fun," I said, breaking the quiet. "I didn't expect to enjoy it so much."
Davis smiled. "Sometimes it's nice to do something simple. No expectations, no pressure."
I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle into my chest. For once, there had been no expectations between us—no pressure to be anything other than ourselves. It was a rare gift, and I found myself grateful for it.
As we walked back to the car, I glanced at Davis out of the corner of my eye. There was something different about him tonight—something I hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was the way he had made me laugh earlier, or the way he had looked at me during dinner. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that, for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel alone.
When we reached the car, Davis unlocked the doors and turned to me, his expression thoughtful. "We should do this again sometime."
I hesitated for a moment, my instinct to retreat warring with the growing sense of connection between us. But then, slowly, I nodded. "Yeah. We should."
As we drove home in comfortable silence, I couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between us. It wasn't a grand revelation, but it was enough. Enough to make me wonder if maybe—just maybe—I was ready to let him in.
For the first time in a long while, the idea didn't terrify me.
Later that night, as I lay in bed, my thoughts drifted back to the unfinished sketches on my desk. The gown I had designed had been born from the same place as this marriage—born from pressure, from expectations, from the need to prove something to myself and to the world. But as I stared up at the ceiling, I realized something: just because something started out of necessity didn't mean it couldn't become something more. Something better.
Maybe this marriage could be like that gown—something I could shape into something beautiful. Something that was mine.
The thought brought a small smile to my lips, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace. Maybe I didn't have all the answers yet, but I was starting to believe that I could find them.
And maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to find them alone.