London's sky felt heavier than usual, thick clouds pressing low as if trying to smother the city beneath them. The morning was a dim, muted gray by the time Elanor and Isabella returned to the penthouse. Neither spoke during the elevator ride. The air between them was dense not hostile, not cold, but alive with the weight of everything that had gone unsaid outside the Moreau building.
Isabella still wore his coat.
Elanor still felt the warmth of her breath against his chest.
And both pretended not to notice.
The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened. Isabella stepped out first, her heels clicking lightly against the polished floor. She kept her chin lifted, steps steady, but her fingers remained tangled with the edges of his coat still clinging to it without realizing.
Elanor followed at a distance, needing space he didn't know how to ask for.
Inside the penthouse, the silence settled deeper, swallowing the room whole. Isabella stopped near the center of the living area and finally slipped the coat off her shoulders, folding it neatly over her arm.
"Here," she said softly, offering it to him.
He took it.
Their fingers brushed barely a touch, featherlight but the reaction was immediate, sharp as a spark.
Isabella pulled her hand back a second too late.
Elanor said nothing, draping the coat over the back of a chair.
She cleared her throat. "We should review the schedule for the gala."
"We can do it later."
"We don't have time later."
He turned. "Isabella."
She looked up, eyes steady but brittle. "Yes?"
"You need to rest."
A faint crease formed between her brows. "I don't need rest. I need control."
"You won't get either if you push yourself to the edge."
"What choice do I have?" she snapped softly. "We're walking into a room full of men who think I'm decoration and threats. If I appear even slightly overwhelmed, they'll tear me apart."
He stepped closer. "I won't let that happen."
"You can't promise that."
He matched her gaze. "Watch me."
Her lips parted just slightly as if the certainty in his voice disrupted the ground under her feet. She looked away quickly, turning her back to him. "This isn't a fairytale, Elanor. Saying you'll protect me doesn't suddenly make me safe."
"No," he agreed softly. "But it makes you less alone."
She froze.
For a breath.
For a heartbeat.
For a moment too fragile to touch.
Then she exhaled, steady but trembling at the edges.
"Elanor," she whispered without turning, "today… when you defended me at the board… was that strategy?"
He stared at her back at the way her shoulders stiffened, at the subtle tilt of her head as if bracing for a blow.
"Isabella"
"Answer me."
Her voice broke not from weakness, but from exhaustion. From holding herself together with steel and silence too long.
He walked toward her slowly, stopping right behind her close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from her body.
"It wasn't strategy," he said quietly.
She closed her eyes.
"But it wasn't kindness either."
Her breath hitched.
"It was truth," he continued. "You weren't wrong. You weren't a liability. And I wasn't going to let them treat you like a mistake."
Silence fell again, but this time it felt different. Softer. Nearly tender.
Isabella turned toward him, slowly, like she was afraid any sudden movement would break whatever fragile peace they'd stumbled into.
"You weren't supposed to defend me," she said.
"I know."
"You were supposed to stay distant."
"I know."
"You promised yourself you'd never"
She stopped, swallowing hard.
He held her gaze, voice low.
"I know."
For a moment, she didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
Then she stepped back.
Just one step.
But it felt like losing something he didn't know he was reaching for.
"We should focus," she said, voice tight. "The gala is tomorrow."
Elanor nodded once. "Fine."
She walked toward the study table, opening documents and rehearsing potential talking points. Her movements were precise, mechanical, as if she was trying to bury emotion under calculation.
But Elanor wasn't looking at the papers.
He was looking at her.
Watching her hold herself together. Watching her push past fear. Watching her pretend the world hadn't been cruel to her from the very beginning.
He hated that she had to try so hard.
"Isabella," he said after several minutes.
She didn't look up. "Hm?"
"Why were you trembling earlier?"
Her hand froze above the documents.
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I said I wasn't."
"Elanor," she said too quickly, too sharply, too defensive"stop reading into things that aren't there."
"There are things there," he replied. "You're just refusing to see them."
"Because nothing good comes from seeing them."
She shoved one of the binders shut, frustration finally slipping through her composure.
"You want to know why I trembled?" she asked, voice rising a fraction. "Because today, for the first time in years, I felt like someone was standing on my side. And it terrified me."
Elanor blinked slowly.
"What?" he asked softly.
"Don't pretend you don't understand." Her breath shook. "You know exactly what it feels like to expect pain instead of help. You know what it feels like to be used. Betrayed. Left to clean the wreckage alone."
Something inside him cracked quietly, dangerously.
"You think standing with me is dangerous?" he asked.
"I think hoping you might is dangerous."
The room seemed to shrink around them.
Elanor took a step toward her. She stepped back.
He took another. She retreated again.
"Elanor, don't," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because if you get close again," she said, voice trembling despite her effort to control it, "I won't be able to pretend this marriage is just strategy."
"And if it isn't?" he asked.
She froze completely.
He closed the distance, stopping just inches away close enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him. His breath mingled with hers. Her pulse fluttered wildly against the skin of her throat.
"Elanor," she breathed shakily, "please don't"
He lifted a hand, slowly, gently giving her a chance to pull away.
She didn't.
His fingers brushed her cheek, the touch almost unbearably soft.
She closed her eyes, just for a moment.
Not weakness.
Not surrender.
Just exhaustion from fighting herself.
"Elanor," she whispered again, "why are you doing this?"
"Because," he murmured, "I want to."
Her breath trembled.
He lowered his hand before either of them crossed a line they couldn't return from. His voice remained low, steady.
"We leave for the gala rehearsal in twenty minutes."
"Okay," she whispered.
"But Isabella," he added, leaning closer just enough to brush her hair with the warmth of his breath
"don't run from me tomorrow."
She swallowed hard. "Why not?"
"Because," he said, "if you do I might run after you."
Her heart stumbled.
Her eyes lifted.
And something in him warned
If she looked at him like that again, something would break… or begin.
The alarm on her phone vibrated sharply, breaking the moment. Isabella pulled away immediately, breathing unsteady.
"I I need to change."
He nodded. "Go."
She walked quickly toward her room.
But before she entered, she paused, turning her head slightly.
"Elanor," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn't trembling because I was afraid of them."
"Then why?"
She looked at him fully now eyes soft, fragile, burning.
"I was trembling because of you."
Then she disappeared into her room, the door closing softly behind her.
And for the first time since their contract began
Elanor realized he was the one trembling now.
"From the ruins of a broken city, a love story rises from ash and silence.
Read my new novel WHISPERS BENEATH THE ASHES a tale of prayer, ruin, and a bond that refuses to die".