Sleepless Realizations

I stared at the closed door longer than I should have. He said goodnight, walked away, and left the air in my room weighted with things unsaid. I could still feel the electricity from our earlier moment—the kiss, the quiet tension, the way his gaze lingered like he wanted to stay. But he didn't.

He left.

And I hated that it disappointed me.

I wrapped my robe tighter around me, trying to trap the warmth he'd left behind, and padded back to my bed. The sheets were cool, the pillows freshly fluffed, and yet I lay there unable to find rest.

Blake.

Always Blake.

I turned onto my side and stared out at the skyline. Velmora's lights blinked through the glass like stars caught in a city that never truly slept. It used to inspire me, that view. The power, the independence, the proof that I'd carved out a place of my own.

Now it just felt like a distraction.

I couldn't stop thinking about him—his hesitation, his restraint, the raw honesty in his voice when he told me he was scared of something real. That had felt… authentic. Not the Blake Aldridge the tabloids knew. Not the arrogant CEO I'd been at war with across boardrooms. But a man with fears, a man who had lost someone he loved and was still carrying the echoes of that pain.

I pulled my phone from the nightstand, debated a thousand messages, and typed one word:

[Me]: Okay?

He replied almost instantly:

[Blake]: Didn't mean to wake you. Just needed air. Couldn't sleep.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

[Me]: Me either.

[Blake]: Was tonight… too much?

[Me]: It was real. And I liked it.

I held my breath.

[Blake]: Good. Because I don't want to go back to pretending.

I didn't want to either. But I was still scared. Not because of him—well, not entirely. I was scared of myself. Of how fast I was falling. Of how safe he made me feel, even when we barely spoke.

[Me]: Me neither.

[Blake]: I'll come back in if you want.

My pulse stuttered.

[Me]: Hurry.

But he didn't come.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. My door never opened. My phone stayed dark. And eventually, I understood.

He wasn't ready.

And maybe… neither was I.

I tried to sleep. Tossed. Turned. Finally gave up and got out of bed. I wrapped a blanket around myself and wandered into the kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the whisper of the wind outside were the only sounds. Everything else—the media, the families, the boardrooms—felt miles away.

I poured a glass of water and leaned against the counter. The brooch Evelyn had given me was still in the living room, glinting in the soft light. I hadn't worn it yet. I wasn't sure I could. It felt too symbolic, too much like surrendering to a life I hadn't chosen.

And yet, wasn't I already doing that?

We were married. Living under one roof. Sharing responsibilities. Sharing moments.

And for once… I didn't hate it.

I just hated how uncertain it all felt.

Back in my room, I curled up on the window seat, blanket around my shoulders, watching the first hints of dawn bleed into the skyline. The city was waking, but I wasn't ready to.

Because something inside me was shifting. And I couldn't decide if it was terrifying or exhilarating.

Eventually, I must have drifted off, because I startled awake to the sound of Sarah knocking gently on my door.

"Ma'am? A delivery just arrived for you."

I blinked at the light streaming in, stretched, and padded barefoot to the door.

Outside, Sarah stood holding a small, elegant bouquet of pale pink roses wrapped in white silk paper.

"There's a card," she said, trying to hide her smile.

I took the bouquet slowly and opened the card.

"Roses for the woman who can outthink me, outrun me, and outshine me. Let's try again. – B."

My chest squeezed.

It wasn't just the flowers. It was the message. The gesture. The way he saw me.

For the rest of the morning, I couldn't stop smiling.

Neither could Sarah. "Second date vibes?" she teased.

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know. But for the first time in weeks, I felt lighter.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to stop running from it too.