Chapter Nine: The Quiet Between Us
The apartment wasn't in his name.
It was tucked five blocks from the main tower, at the top of an old heritage building that had once housed a jazz club. Emery hadn't known it existed.
Nicholas had given her the address after the suspension email arrived.
No words. Just the location.
She almost didn't go.
But her feet carried her anyway.
He opened the door before she knocked.
He looked tired. Not worn-down, but... stripped. His shirt sleeves were rolled, tie undone, the sharp mask of power left behind somewhere between the boardroom and this bare, silent place.
She stepped in without speaking.
He closed the door, turned, and just looked at her.
"I don't know how to fix this," she said.
His voice was hoarse. "Maybe we can't."
The space was quiet. Minimal. A piano in the corner, untouched. A whiskey bottle unopened. The only light came from a small lamp near the couch.
She sat on the edge, hands in her lap.
He remained standing.
"I told you I don't do relationships," he said quietly. "That's not because I don't want to. It's because I can't afford to want to."
She nodded. "I know."
"But you made me want it anyway," he added, barely above a whisper.
"And you made me believe in something more than ambition."
They looked at each other for a long moment.
No heat. No games.
Just... pain.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Us?"
He crossed the room. Sat beside her. Didn't touch her.
"I regret not protecting you," he said. "I regret not seeing what Lucas was planning. I regret that you're the one paying for something I started."
Emery blinked hard. "They think I seduced you."
"They think you changed me," he said. "And they're right. But not the way they think."
Silence. And then—
"When I was thirteen," Nicholas said slowly, "my father made me sit in the boardroom and watch him fire a man who'd worked for us for twenty-two years."
Emery turned to him, surprised.
"He told me to look the man in the eye while he broke him. Said that's what power meant. Cold detachment. Ruthlessness."
He looked down at his hands.
"I've been chasing that version of myself ever since. But with you... I don't want to be cold. I don't want to be that man."
Her voice cracked. "Then don't be."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
Emery reached over. Took his hand. Intertwined her fingers with his.
"Let's learn together," she whispered.
They sat in silence for a long time.
No kissing. No touches beyond their hands. No sex. Just the sound of the city outside, and the thunder of two hearts daring to be softer.
When he finally leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closed, she watched him.
And for the first time, he didn't look like a king.
He looked like a man who could fall apart.
And trust her to hold the pieces.