POV - Elena
The world was still when I opened my eyes.
The curtains were half drawn, and the first pale light of dawn spilled across the room — soft, golden, almost shy.
For a long moment, I didn't move.
James's arm was draped over my waist, his breathing deep and steady against my back. His warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, like safety itself.
Last night still lingered in every part of me — the touch of his hands, the sound of his voice, the way the world had seemed to disappear until there was only us.
It hadn't been just desire. It was something deeper, something ancient and overwhelming.
Something that made me feel whole in a way I hadn't known I was missing.
I turned carefully to face him.
He was still asleep, one arm bent under his head, hair slightly tousled, jaw relaxed. He looked younger like this — less Alpha, less CEO, more human.
Just James.
The man who had broken through every wall I'd built and made me love him without permission.
My fingers moved before I could stop them — brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, tracing the faint line of his jaw.
He stirred but didn't wake. A small, quiet sound escaped his throat, the kind that made my chest ache with tenderness.
For a moment, I just watched him breathe.
And in that quiet, something inside me settled — the storm, the doubts, the fear of not being enough.
All gone.
Because right here, in this bed, I wasn't the girl trying to figure out who she was.
I wasn't the orphan, or the lost soul, or the woman carrying an ancient power she barely understood.
I was his.
And he was mine.
The thought made my throat tighten, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, whispering softly, "I love you."
His voice came, half-awake, low and rough from sleep. "Say it again."
I smiled, startled, and looked up. His eyes were open now — silver-blue and soft, the edges still hazy with dreams.
"I love you," I repeated, the words trembling, too full, too real.
He smiled — slow, beautiful, devastating.
"Good," he murmured, pulling me against his chest. "Because I was starting to think last night ruined my ability to sleep without you in my arms."
I laughed quietly, burying my face in his neck. "That's your fault."
He tilted my chin up, kissed my forehead. "I'll take the blame for that."
For a while, we stayed like that — tangled in sheets and sunlight, saying nothing. The silence wasn't heavy this time. It was home.
When I finally got up, the air was warm with the scent of coffee. James was already in the kitchen, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants and a half-smile that made my stomach flip.
He handed me a mug. "Morning, love."
I took it, the brush of his fingers against mine sending that familiar spark racing through me.
"Morning," I said, trying to sound casual — failing entirely.
He leaned against the counter, watching me with that look that always made my knees weak. "You're quiet."
"Just… thinking."
"About?"
I met his gaze. "Us."
His expression softened. "And?"
"And I don't ever want this to end."
He smiled — slow, certain. "It won't."
The simplicity of his answer made me believe him.
And as the morning light spilled through the kitchen windows, turning everything gold, I realized that maybe — for the first time in my life — I truly believed in forever.
…
"Come on, love," James said with that soft, teasing voice that always made my stomach flutter. "If we don't move now, I'll find reasons to keep you here all day."
I laughed, half leaning against the counter, half melting under his gaze. "You say that like it's a threat."
"It's not," he murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple. "It's a warning."
The clock on the wall read 7:50.
Reality was catching up — the one with emails, meetings, and the world where we weren't just two people lost in each other.
"Fine," I said, pushing away from him. "Let's get ready before we both lose our jobs."
He smiled, that slow, lazy smile that looked dangerous in the morning light. "You could work from here, you know. I'd build you an office upstairs."
"Tempting," I said, grabbing my coffee again, "but I actually like earning my position, Mr. Ashford."
He chuckled, low and warm, and that sound did strange things to me.
As I walked toward the stairs, the faint ache in my body reminded me of the night before — of hands that had known exactly where to touch, of whispers that had left me trembling, of his voice when he said my name like it meant something sacred.
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile at the memory.
By the time I reached the top floor, sunlight spilled across the hallway like liquid gold.
I went into the guest bathroom — our bathroom now, really — and started my morning ritual.
Shower. Cleanse. Breathe.
The water was warm and steady, steam curling around me.
I tilted my head back, closing my eyes, and for a heartbeat I was there again — his mouth on my skin, the sound of his voice low in my ear.
The memory sent a shiver down my spine, soft and deep.
I smiled to myself, shaking my head. "Focus, Elena."
After the shower, I towel-dried my hair, applying a little serum to tame the waves. My skin was flushed from the heat, a little too aware, but I didn't mind. It was the kind of awareness that made me feel alive.
I slipped into my outfit for the day — a cream blouse, tucked into navy cigarette trousers, a camel trench coat, and my favorite nude pumps.
Simple. Elegant. Professional. The Elena Dorne that could face any boardroom.
When I came back downstairs, James was already ready — perfectly pressed charcoal suit, white shirt open at the collar, no tie. He was the picture of effortless authority, and yet… his eyes softened the moment they found me.
"You're beautiful," he said, just like that. No hesitation. No performance.
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. "You're biased."
"I'm observant," he countered, stepping closer and straightening the collar of my coat. His fingers brushed against my neck — gentle, possessive, enough to make my pulse quicken.
"James," I whispered, "we'll be late."
He smiled. "Then we'll be fashionably late."
I laughed and slipped past him, pretending not to notice the way his gaze followed me as I grabbed my bag.
"Are you sure you'll be okay today?" he asked suddenly, his tone shifting — softer, protective. "Lucian and I have some business with the pack later. You'll be at the office most of the day?"
"Yes," I said, zipping up my bag. "HR planning meeting at eleven, budget review at three. Nothing world-shattering."
He nodded, watching me. "Call me if anything feels… off."
I looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Off?"
"Just a feeling," he said with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "Humor me."
I stepped closer and smoothed a wrinkle on his lapel. "You worry too much."
"I love too much," he said quietly, and the simplicity of it stole my breath.
For a heartbeat, the world went still. Then I smiled, brushing a quick kiss against his lips.
"I'll see you at the office, Mr. Ashford."
He caught my hand before I could pull away, his thumb brushing over my palm — just once, but it left sparks in its wake.
"I'll count the minutes," he said softly.
I slipped free, cheeks warm, and walked to the door before he could say something else that would make me want to stay.
The ride to work was quiet, the city alive with its usual pulse — traffic lights, murmured radio chatter, the early hum of Monday.
By the time I reached Ashford Industries, the facade of professionalism had settled over me again, smooth and practiced.
But under it all, I still felt him — the echo of his touch, the warmth of his voice, the ache that wasn't pain but memory.
And as I stepped into the elevator, surrounded by reflections of the woman I was becoming, I realized something simple and terrifying:
This was more than love now.
It was belonging.
And that was far harder to walk away from.