Chapter 24 – A Touch Too Real

The estate's private beach, hours after sunset, had transformed into something out of a dream. Lanterns in bronze cages swung gently from curved bamboo stakes, casting golden halos on the soft sand. A long, low table had been arranged beneath the swaying palms, laid with crisp white linens, polished flatware, and flickering candles in seashell-shaped holders.

Above them, the stars glittered in full display, scattered like diamonds across an inky sky. No city lights here to drown them out—only the hush of the waves and the whisper of the breeze.

Ariana Blake, twenty-six, stood in a backless seafoam green dress that Leo's stylist had sent up earlier, her hair curled in loose tendrils, cheeks kissed with just enough bronzer to make her glow. The dress hugged her waist but left her arms bare, and though she normally preferred her beat-up jeans and oversized tees, tonight she felt… different.

Seen.

And it made her nervous.

Leo Maddox Cross, thirty-two, sat at the head of the table. He wore a pale button-down with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms and sun-bronzed skin. His trousers were tailored, the color of sand, and his watch gleamed faintly in the candlelight. Even relaxed, he had the presence of a man used to commanding empires. But tonight, his smile was softer. Less calculated.

He gestured to the seat beside him. "I was starting to think you bailed."

Ariana raised a brow as she sat, smoothing the dress under her. "And give up grilled lobster on a private beach? Please. I may be under contract, but I'm not insane."

He chuckled, pouring her a glass of sparkling water from a chilled decanter. "Good. Because you'd miss the chef's mango sauce, and that would be a tragedy."

Ariana took the glass, sipping slowly. The drink was ice cold, with a faint taste of lime.

"Have you ever hosted one of these retreats with someone before?" she asked, eyes scanning the gently lit surroundings.

Leo set the bottle down. "No."

She glanced sideways. "Really?"

"Really," he said, then turned to her fully. "You're the first."

Her breath caught.

His voice wasn't teasing. His expression wasn't mocking.

He meant it.

They fell into quiet conversation as the first course was served—tender scallops with passionfruit glaze, presented on curved white shells. The waitstaff, silent and efficient, faded into the shadows between each dish. Conversation drifted from art to architecture to food, with Leo listening intently, and Ariana surprising herself by laughing freely.

He asked about her design ideas. She asked about the time he crashed a drone into a fountain during a product launch.

By the time the main course arrived—lobster tail with saffron rice and charred lemon—Ariana was beginning to forget why she was so afraid of this man.

Until it happened.

He leaned forward to refill her water, and his hand brushed her lower back.

It was brief. Light. Innocent, even.

But something in her jolted. As if every nerve had snapped awake. Heat flooded her skin. Her breath caught.

Leo froze, his hand pausing mid-air.

Their eyes locked.

Something passed between them—raw, electric, unspoken.

Ariana pulled back slightly, her spine straightening. "Don't."

Leo blinked, his hand dropping immediately. "Sorry. Reflex."

She swallowed hard, setting down her fork. "That was… That can't happen."

"I know."

But his eyes didn't match the restraint in his voice.

And that scared her more than the touch itself.

"I need to go," she said quietly, rising from her chair.

Leo stood too, instinctively, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Ariana—"

But she was already turning, her sandals crunching softly on the sand as she hurried toward the estate, leaving the golden lantern light behind.

—

She didn't stop until she reached the suite, her chest tight, hands trembling.

She kicked off her sandals and paced across the cool marble floors. The moonlight poured in from the balcony, casting long shadows that mirrored the confusion in her head.

Why did one touch from him feel so intimate? So real?

This wasn't part of the plan.

They weren't supposed to blur lines.

They had rules. Terms. Boundaries.

And yet…

That look in his eyes. That heat beneath his palm. The way her skin still tingled where he'd touched her…

She was in trouble.

Deep, emotional, no-turning-back kind of trouble.

And she hated herself for it.

—

Leo didn't follow her.

Not immediately.

He stayed at the table, finishing his drink in silence, eyes fixed on the sea. His expression unreadable.

When he finally returned to the suite—nearly an hour later—Ariana was in bed, pretending to sleep, back turned, lights off except for the glow from the hallway.

She felt the door open. Felt the pause in his steps.

He knew.

He knew she was awake.

But he didn't say anything.

Just closed the door quietly and retreated to the guest couch in the lounge area.

The silence between them stretched like a live wire.

—

The next morning, Ariana woke early. The sky outside was still faintly purple, the air cool and crisp.

She tiptoed to the lounge.

Leo wasn't there.

The blanket from the couch was folded neatly. A tray sat on the table—coffee, two mugs, a small note tucked beside it.

She picked it up.

A—

Didn't mean to cross a line.

Coffee's fresh.

—L

She stared at the short message.

It wasn't romantic.

But it was real.

Just like everything else last night had been.

And that was the problem.

She ran a hand through her hair, grabbed a mug, and sank onto the couch.

This wasn't just a fake relationship anymore.

This was something else.

Something dangerously close to the edge of real.

And she wasn't sure she'd survive the fall.

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