POV - Elena
I was just leaving the office when my phone lit up with his name.
James Ashford
My pulse jumped before I even answered. I leaned against the cool metal of the elevator, trying to sound casual. "Hey."
"Hey," he said softly. That voice of his — smooth, steady, always a little too calm — did things to my heartbeat that no voice should be able to do.
"You're on your way home?"
"Just left the building," I said. "Heading to the subway."
A pause, the faint sound of him exhaling on the other end.
Then — "Don't. I'll come get you."
I frowned, smiling despite myself. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he said, cutting in gently. "Actually…"
He hesitated, and for once, he sounded unsure.
"I was wondering if you'd… come stay with me tonight."
The words hit me like a rush of heat.
"Stay with you?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady.
He laughed quietly. "That came out wrong. I meant… dinner. I already have something ready at home. And… it's late, and you've had a long day. I thought maybe we could just… be together. No pressure. Just—"
I couldn't help smiling. "James, you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous," he said — immediately, unconvincingly.
"Yes, you are," I teased, warmth creeping up my neck. "And that's kind of adorable."
He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. "Is that a yes, then?"
I didn't even have to think. "Yes."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said, his tone shifting into something softer, content. "Don't go anywhere."
"I wasn't planning to."
When the call ended, I caught myself staring at my reflection in the elevator doors, heart fluttering.
Stay with me tonight.
The words replayed again and again until I could almost hear them against my skin.
By the time I stepped outside, the city was wrapped in that golden-blue light between day and night. A breeze tugged at my hair.
And then — his car.
He got out as soon as he saw me, his eyes lighting up in that way that made everything else disappear.
"Hi," he said simply, as if the word carried a thousand others behind it.
"Hi," I breathed.
He opened the door for me, his hand brushing my arm — a small, grounding touch that sent warmth flooding through me.
The drive out of the city was quiet, peaceful. Buildings fell away into open roads and fields. The horizon burned with the last traces of sunset.
Every so often, I'd glance at him — the soft focus in his expression, the way the light hit his jaw, the faint smile he gave me whenever our eyes met.
"Where exactly are you taking me?" I asked, half teasing.
He smiled without looking away from the road. "Home."
"Home," I echoed softly, and for some reason, the word made my heart ache in the best possible way.
When we finally turned onto a long driveway lined with tall oaks. The house appeared slowly between the trees — large, elegant, and yet somehow quiet. Four stories of stone and glass, golden light glowing from inside. It was a dream house.
"Dinner's ready. Come on."
The smell hit me as soon as we stepped inside — something rich and comforting, like roasted herbs and fresh bread.
"I didn't cook," he admitted quickly. "My chef made it earlier and left it for us. I just… reheated it."
I laughed. "You keep saying that like you're confessing a crime."
He grinned, guiding me toward the dining table. "I just want to be honest."
Dinner was warm, simple, perfect. Between bites of pasta and wine, we talked — not about work or strategy or anything complicated. Just… us. He asked about my childhood, my favorite book, what I'd dream of doing if I could take a year off. And for once, I told someone everything without fear.
After we ate, we moved to the living room, settling onto a deep sofa in front of a quiet fire. A series played on the TV, neither of us really paying attention.
At some point, I leaned against him; his arm came around me automatically.
Silence fell — the good kind. The kind that feels safe.
Then, after a while, his voice broke the quiet.
"Elena?"
"Mm?"
"Do you trust me?"
The question was gentle, but it carried weight. I lifted my head to look at him, frowning slightly. "Of course I do."
He studied me, eyes searching mine. "No, I mean really trust me. Even if things stop making sense."
I hesitated — not out of doubt, but because something in his tone stirred something deep inside me. "Yes," I said softly. "I do. I trust you."
He exhaled slowly, as if those words were what he'd been waiting for. Then he pulled me into his arms.
It wasn't a polite embrace. It was everything.
Strong, protective, full of something unspoken but powerful.
I felt his heart hammering against mine, his breath warm against my hair, his voice barely a whisper. "Good."
He held me there, longer than I expected, until my body relaxed completely in his arms
…
When I woke, the light was soft — filtered through linen curtains, gentle on the skin.
For a few seconds, I didn't move. I just lay there, feeling the quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn't demand anything — it just is.
Then I felt his arm around me.
Heavy, warm, protective.
James was still half-asleep, his breath slow against the back of my neck, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched mine.
I smiled to myself.
I hadn't realized until that moment how safe I felt.
Not just safe in his house — safe in him.
It was terrifying and beautiful all at once, the way my entire body trusted him before my mind even caught up. Every wall I'd built, every caution I'd clung to, had dissolved somewhere between his voice and his hands.
I turned slowly to face him. His eyes opened — storm-grey and soft at the same time — and the small, sleepy smile that curved his lips made my heart twist.
"Good morning," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.
"Good morning," I whispered back.
He brushed a thumb across my cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary. "I could get used to this."
"So could I."
For a few minutes, neither of us moved. The sunlight slipped across the sheets, time stretching between our smiles and the unspoken certainty that this — us — was becoming something real.
Eventually, reality called.
Work. The world. The lives we still had to pretend were separate.
But even that didn't feel heavy.
The drive into the city was calm. He insisted on taking the long route, the kind that winds through quiet roads and tree-shaded turns. I think we both wanted the morning to last a little longer.
He dropped me off a block from the office — my request — but before I got out, he caught my hand, kissed my knuckles lightly, and said, "Text me if you need anything."
"I will," I promised, smiling like an idiot before stepping out.
The moment I walked into the building, I realized something had changed.
It wasn't just me — it was the way people looked at me.
Or maybe it was just that I was finally looking back with confidence instead of apology.
"Good morning, Elena!" Maya, from marketing, waved at me near the elevators.
"Morning!" I said, grinning.
"You look… different today." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "New skincare routine, or are we just glowing from something else?"
I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Coffee and sleep, I swear."
"Uh-huh. Sure," she teased, smirking before disappearing down the hall.
The rest of the morning flew by. Meetings, emails, a few laughs with the team. Everything felt brighter, easier, like I was living slightly closer to the version of myself I'd always wanted to be.
At lunch, I slipped away to the rooftop terrace — a quiet spot I liked, overlooking the city.
The air was crisp, the sky pale blue, and for once, I didn't feel the need to rush anywhere.
I scrolled through my phone, saw a dozen missed calls from my aunt, and winced.
Right. Family.
I hit call before I could overthink it.
She answered on the first ring. "Elena! Finally! I was starting to think you'd vanished."
Her voice was exactly as I remembered — warm, alive, a touch of amused exasperation.
"I know," I said, sinking into one of the benches. "I'm sorry, tia. Things have been… hectic."
"Hectic?" she echoed. "That's usually your code for something's going on. Come on, tell me. What is it? You sound different."
I hesitated, biting my lip, then laughed softly. "All right, you caught me. I've met someone."
A pause. Then the sound of delighted laughter filled my ear. "Ah, there it is! I knew it. You have that tone — the one you had when you were sixteen and fell in love with that boy who wrote bad poetry."
I groaned. "Please don't bring that up."
"I'm teasing," she said, still laughing. "So? Who is he? Where did you meet him?"
I hesitated for half a heartbeat. "He's… my boss."
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath. "Your boss?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "And before you panic, it's not what you think. He's incredible, tia. Kind, brilliant, grounded. It just… happened."
There was another pause — then a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a smile.
"Well," she said finally, "you've never done anything halfway, have you?"
"Tia," I groaned again, laughing this time.
"I'm only saying — if you're smiling like that while talking about him, then he must be special."
"He is," I admitted softly.
"I'm so happy for you, sweetheart. It's about time you found someone who makes you light up like this. We want to meet him, of course. Your uncle, Gabriel — everyone's going to want to meet this mysterious man."
The thought made my stomach flip — half nerves, half excitement. "I'll talk to him," I said. "Maybe this weekend? Lunch, maybe?"
"That would be perfect," she said brightly. "You'll let me know which day. We'll make your favorite. And Elena…"
"Yes?"
"You sound happy."
I went quiet for a second, smiling at the city skyline. "I am, tia. Really, I am."
"I'm glad," she said, her voice soft now. "You deserve that, my love."
When we hung up, I sat there for a long moment, the phone still warm in my hand.
The breeze brushed against my face, and for the first time in a very long time, I realized what happiness actually felt like —
Not fireworks, not chaos.
Just peace.
The kind that comes when your heart finally recognizes home.