Morning broke over London with a reluctant glow, pale sunlight stretching slowly across the skyline. The city was quiet, caught between sleep and movement, but inside the Vance Moreau penthouse, silence felt like something else entirely like the breath held between two heartbeats.
Elanor hadn't slept.
Not a minute.
He had spent the entire night in his study, staring at the darkened window, replaying every word Isabella had whispered before retreating behind her door.
"You make it very hard to stay angry."
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, low and rough. He didn't know what scared him more the possibility that she might let herself love him again, or the terrifying truth that he might not know how to handle it if she did.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He needed clarity. He needed to ground himself. But the moment he stepped into the hallway
Isabella's door opened.
She stepped out wearing a soft cream blouse tucked into charcoal trousers, her hair pulled back in a loose, elegant ponytail. She looked calm.
Too calm.
Like she had rebuilt all her walls overnight.
Her eyes flicked up and met his.
And everything inside him tightened.
"Elanor," she greeted, voice cool but polite. Measured. "Morning."
He swallowed. "Morning."
Silence slipped between them not the sharp, threatening kind from before, but something fragile. Almost shy. He hated it, and he didn't know why.
He cleared his throat. "Did you sleep?"
She shook her head. "Not much."
"Because of yesterday?"
Her jaw tightened. "Because of everything."
He wanted to reach for her. He didn't.
"We need to leave soon," she said, moving toward the kitchen. "The interview is in two hours."
"Isabella".
"I'm fine."
He knew that tone. The tone she used to shut a door gently instead of slamming it. The tone she used when she was hurt but refused to show it.
He stepped closer.
"You're avoiding last night."
"I'm processing last night."
"And what does that mean?"
"That I'm not making decisions based on emotion."
His jaw clenched. "You think I'm asking you to?"
She met his gaze finally. "Aren't you?"
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "I'm asking for honesty. That's it."
"Honesty," she murmured, looking away. "That's the most dangerous thing we've ever shared."
He stepped even closer. She didn't retreat this time.
"Isabella".
"No," she cut softly, "not now. Not today."
Her voice trembled.
He saw the exhaustion in her shoulders. The tightness in her breath. The fear she tried to bury beneath perfect posture.
He forced himself to step back.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Not today."
She blinked, surprised he didn't push.
"Elanor…"
"It's fine," he said. "We'll survive today first."
She swallowed, her eyes softening just a fraction.
"Thank you."
He nodded once and turned toward the kitchen, letting her breathe. Isabella followed shortly after, preparing tea to steady her trembling hands. Elanor noticed.
He didn't call her out for it.
"Do you want breakfast?" he asked.
"No."
"You need to eat."
"I'll eat after the interview."
"You need food before the interview," he said gently.
Her shoulders stiffened. "I said no."
He stopped.
She froze, realizing how sharp her tone had been.
"Elanor…" she said quietly, "…I'm sorry. I just".
He stepped closer, voice soft. "You're nervous."
"I'm not".
"You are."
She let out a slow breath. "Fine. Maybe I am."
He nodded. "Good. Admitting it helps."
She shot him a glare that should've been dangerous but somehow made him want to smile.
"You're annoying," she muttered.
"And you're exhausted."
She looked away again. "Elanor… don't be gentle. It confuses me."
His chest tightened.
He took a step closer too close until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
"I can be cruel," he murmured, "if that's easier for you."
She swallowed, breath unsteady. "No. It isn't."
His voice dropped further. "Then let me be what you need."
Her lips parted.
She didn't answer.
Because the truth was too heavy.
Too close.
Too real.
The car ride to the interview location a quiet studio near South Bank was thick with unspoken tension. Isabella sat beside him, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Elanor watched her through the reflection of the window.
Her breathing was uneven.
Her shoulders were stiff.
Her eyes though focused on the city
were distant.
He wanted to reach for her hand.
He didn't.
But then the car hit a small bump, and she flinched, inhaling sharply.
Without thinking, he reached out.
His hand rested over hers warm, firm, grounding.
She froze.
"Elanor".
"I'm not asking for anything," he said softly. "Just breathe."
She exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing against the leather seat. But she didn't pull her hand away.
Not even after a full minute.
Not even after two.
When they arrived at the studio, she finally released him slowly, reluctantly, as though her hand remembered what her mind denied.
Inside, assistants buzzed around, microphones were clipped on, cameras tested. The host a woman in her forties with kind eyes greeted them warmly.
"We just need a quiet, natural conversation," she said. "Nothing too personal."
Isabella forced a nod.
Elanor saw the tension creeping back into her body.
They sat together on the small interview sofa. A soft light illuminated their faces. Isabella straightened her posture. Elanor leaned slightly closer not touching, but anchoring.
The interview began.
"So," the host said, smiling, "congratulations on the engagement."
"Thank you," Elanor answered, calm.
Isabella managed a composed smile. "We appreciate that."
The host continued, "You two make an unexpected pair. What brought you together?"
Isabella stiffened.
But Elanor spoke first.
"Respect," he said.
The host blinked. "Respect?"
"Yes. Isabella has strength I admire and intelligence most people underestimate. Our partnership feels natural to me."
Isabella turned to him slowly, stunned.
Her lips parted, a tiny inhale escaping.
The host turned to her. "Is that true for you as well?"
Isabella swallowed. "Yes," she whispered. "Elanor is… someone who sees me. Truly."
The host smiled, unaware of the quiet earthquake happening between her guests.
"And how do you feel about the public's reaction?"
Elanor shrugged lightly. "They'll say what they want. We know what we are."
Isabella glanced at him again.
Something warm cracked in her chest.
Something dangerous.
The interview ended smoothly.
But Isabella didn't stand right away.
She sat still, staring at the floor, breathing carefully.
Elanor leaned closer. "You did well."
"I lied," she whispered.
"No."
"I said you see me."
"You weren't lying."
She shook her head. "You say that now, but".
He reached for her chin gently, tilting her face toward him.
"I see you, Isabella," he said. "I always have."
Her breath trembled.
"Elanor".
He let her go suddenly, standing before he crossed a line neither of them was ready for.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
She didn't move.
"Elanor," she said softly, "why did you defend me like that?"
He looked down at her sitting there in the soft studio light, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, heart on the edge.
"Because you deserved it."
She blinked.
"And because…" his voice lowered,
"…I'm tired of pretending none of this matters."
Her heart nearly stumbled out of her chest.
"Elanor".
"We need to get to the gala," he said, breath tight. "Come on."
She stood slowly.
Too slow.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Elanor caught her waist before she fell.
Their bodies collided.
Her breath hitched sharply.
His grip tightened instinctively.
"Careful," he whispered.
"Don't touch me like that," she breathed, trembling.
"Then don't fall."
She looked up at him helplessly, furiously, dangerously full of emotion.
"Elanor… what are we doing?" she whispered.
"I don't know," he murmured. "But I'm done pretending it's nothing."
Her lips parted, shaking with every breath.
"Elanor".
He stepped closer.
"Let me in."
She shook her head.
"I can't."
"You can."
"No."
"Isabella".
"I can't trust this," she whispered.
"I can't trust you."
His jaw tightened.
"And yet," he murmured, "you're standing here trembling in my arms."
Her eyes burned.
Her voice cracked.
"Elanor… please don't make me hope."
He leaned closer, breath brushing her cheek.
"Then stop looking at me like you already do."
She froze.
Completely.
Guard down.
Walls broken.
Heart bare.
"Elanor…" she whispered, voice splintering, "if you hurt me again".
He touched her cheek gently, thumb brushing a tear she didn't realize had fallen.
"I know," he whispered.
"And that's why I won't."
She stared at him.
Soft.
Broken.
Wanting.
Terrified.
The truth lay between them, heavy as the sky outside.
Neither moved.
Neither looked away.
Neither breathed.
Because the moment felt like the beginning and the breaking of everything.