Ariana woke to silence.
It was that strange kind of quiet that didn't feel peaceful—but hollow. Her hand instinctively reached to the other side of the bed, finding only cool sheets. No warmth. No Leo.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the muted sunlight filtering in through gauzy cream curtains. The air-conditioning hummed softly in the distance, the only sound in an otherwise too-empty room.
She sat up, the white sheets slipping down her shoulders. Her skin tingled where his hands had been the night before. Her lips still burned with the memory of his kiss—the way his body had pressed against hers, his mouth whispering promises into her skin without saying a word.
But now, he was gone.
The soft knock of dread tapped at the back of her mind. She shoved it aside. Maybe he had gone for a run. Or a swim. He was a man of routines, after all. Maybe he just didn't want to wake her.
But still… something didn't feel right.
She wrapped a robe around her, the silk cool against her flushed skin, and stepped onto the pale stone floor of the villa. The scent of salt and citrus lingered in the air as she padded barefoot down the hallway. The suite was still. Too still.
No Leo.
The veranda was empty.
The private pool untouched.
The coffee station untouched.
Her stomach twisted, forming a knot of uncertainty. She wasn't being paranoid. She knew something had shifted.
Then she saw it—on the glass table near the entrance. A crisp white envelope. Her name scrawled across it in Leo's unmistakable handwriting.
Her heart dropped.
She reached for it slowly, like it might burn her fingers. The paper was thick, the ink bold. She opened it with trembling hands.
Ariana,
Last night was a mistake.
It shouldn't have happened.
We both know this isn't what we agreed to. I crossed a line, and I take full responsibility. I don't expect forgiveness. But I need to be clear: it can't happen again.
- Leo
Her throat tightened, eyes stinging as she stared at the words. They didn't sound like him. Not the man who had held her like she mattered. Not the man who kissed her like she was the only thing in his world.
But this was him.
The calculated, guarded CEO. Leonardo Maddox Cross—the man who built walls so high, even he couldn't see over them.
Anger flared beneath her ribs, burning hotter than the humiliation.
How dare he?
He was the one who had opened that door. Who had let her in. Who had said he couldn't pretend anymore. Who had kissed her like he meant it. And now he was retreating like none of it mattered?
No. She wouldn't let him reduce her to a mistake.
Not again.
Not like the men who came before him—charming and distant, all promises and no staying power.
Ariana walked to the suite closet and yanked the doors open. She changed into a sleeveless linen dress, the color of soft rosewood, and twisted her hair into a low knot. No makeup. No drama. Just her and her pride, standing tall on trembling legs.
She stormed out of the villa, marching across the crushed shell path that led toward the conference center. The island retreat may have been private, but it was crawling with partners, investors, and media reps—the very people Leo wanted to impress.
She didn't care.
Let them see her.
Let them wonder.
She followed the sound of quiet voices and the scent of expensive cologne. There, in a sun-shaded pavilion near the edge of the water, Leo sat in tailored navy slacks and a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark hair was slicked back, his posture perfect. Cold. Collected.
He was mid-conversation with a man Ariana didn't recognize—some European investor, judging by the accent and the loafers with no socks.
Leo's eyes caught hers before she even opened her mouth.
His expression didn't change.
But his shoulders tensed.
"Mr. Klemens," Ariana said smoothly, interrupting. "May I borrow Mr. Cross for a moment?"
The investor blinked, surprised but polite. Leo was silent, jaw tight.
"Yes, of course," the man said, excusing himself.
Ariana waited until he was out of earshot before turning on Leo.
"Really?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "A mistake? That's what you wrote me?"
Leo didn't look at her. His eyes scanned the waves, the pale horizon, anywhere but her face.
"I shouldn't have let it happen," he said, voice flat. "It wasn't part of the deal."
"Oh, screw the deal," she snapped. "I felt something last night, Leo. And don't lie to me and tell me you didn't."
"I'm not lying," he said quietly. "I did feel something."
She stared at him, breath caught.
"Then why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
He finally looked at her then, and the pain in his eyes gutted her more than the letter had.
"Because if I don't draw the line now," he said, "I'll cross every one of them. And I can't afford that."
"I'm not asking you to give up your company," she said. "I'm not asking for a damn fairytale. I just—" She stopped, swallowing down the emotion. "I just wanted to know it was real."
"It was real," he said hoarsely. "And that's the problem."
Ariana took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could hold her together.
"So what now?" she asked. "We go back to pretending? I smile for the cameras, wear the ring, play your perfect fiancée while you keep me at arm's length again?"
"That was the agreement."
She laughed bitterly. "You know what, Leo? I was fine with pretending when that's all it was. But you made it real. You. So don't put this on me."
He looked away, jaw tight. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," she said. "You're scared."
His head snapped back to hers.
"You hide behind your empire and your logic and your damn merger like it's a shield, but the truth is, you don't know how to let anyone love you. You don't know how to feel without running."
He didn't deny it.
Because he couldn't.
She let out a shaky breath, emotion clawing at her throat.
"I thought you were different," she said. "I thought maybe you'd let me be different."
Leo looked down at his hands, hands that had held her only hours before, now clenched into fists.
"I can't be what you need, Ariana."
She gave him one last look, something fragile and breaking behind her eyes.
"I never asked you to be anything but honest."
She turned on her heel and walked away, refusing to let him see her cry.
Not this time.
Not again.
---
That night, Ariana didn't attend the dinner reception. She stayed inside the villa, ignoring the soft knock of his return hours later. She kept the lights off, sat by the window with her sketchpad in her lap, and stared at the sea.
She didn't cry.
But her chest ached in that specific, hollow way that only heartbreak can carve out.
She'd walked into this knowing it wasn't real.
And still, she had hoped.
Hope. That was her mistake.
Because Leo Cross would always choose safety over surrender.
And she? She was tired of loving men who couldn't love her back.
---