Crossing the Threshold

I woke up with the faint scent of cedarwood still clinging to the sleeve of my robe.

It had been hours since I'd left him standing outside my bedroom door, and yet Blake Aldridge was everywhere. In my thoughts. In the air. In the press of my palm against my lips where he had kissed me like we were no longer pretending.

I sat up slowly, brushing strands of hair out of my face. The light filtering through the curtains was gentle, like even the morning knew it needed to tread softly after last night.

My heart did something foolish when I remembered the way he looked at me—like I mattered beyond company shares and marital obligations. Like I was the only thing worth fighting for in a world he had always approached like a chessboard.

I wasn't used to being pursued. Not like this.

In university, I'd been too focused. Too driven. Too unavailable. My heart had always been locked behind layers of ambition, the kind that didn't allow space for late-night flings or fragile affections. Love was a luxury I didn't have time for.

Until now.

I pulled on a cashmere sweater and padded barefoot into the kitchen. There, on the island, was a note written in Blake's handwriting, neat and assertive.

Morning, Cater.

I made you coffee. There's fresh bread too. Don't overthink last night. Unless it's in my favor. –B

I rolled my eyes even as I smiled. The man was infuriating and charming in equal measure.

The smell of warm toast drifted from the counter. I poured myself a cup, already half-expecting him to emerge from the hallway like a well-tailored dream. But the apartment was quiet. Still.

Still wasn't bad.

Still gave me room to think.

And God, I needed to think.

I carried my coffee to the balcony, the early Velmora breeze brushing against my skin. Our city. Our empire. At our feet. But none of that felt as intoxicating as the memory of Blake's hands on my waist or the way his voice softened when he whispered my name.

How had we gotten here?

From rivals to reluctant partners. From reluctant partners to something like... friends. And now this strange space between desire and danger.

I didn't want to rush it.

But I didn't want to run anymore, either.

My phone buzzed beside me.

[Blake]: Are you alive, or have I officially scared you off?

I smirked and typed back quickly.

[Celine]: Alive. Unscathed. Mildly annoyed.

His reply came a few seconds later.

[Blake]: I'll take that as encouragement. How about dinner tonight? No pressure. Just us. No business.

Just us.

Just us sounded like a loaded promise.

[Celine]: Send the details. I'll consider it.

The truth? I'd already decided I'd go. I just needed to hold onto a sliver of control.

I returned inside to find Sarah had already messaged about the meeting schedule. A few overlapping events with Blake's team meant we'd cross paths more than once today. I wasn't sure whether that thrilled me or terrified me.

At the office, it was hard to focus. I could still feel the imprint of his gaze across the table during our afternoon strategy meeting. His posture was relaxed but alert, every bit the confident executive. But beneath it was something else. Something that danced just for me.

At one point, our fingers brushed when passing a report. I didn't flinch. Neither did he. But the room felt warmer.

After the meeting, I slipped back into my office and sank into the chair. Sarah followed me in moments later.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She raised a brow. "You've got that smile again."

"What smile?"

"The one you wore when he sent the first bouquet."

I glanced away, heat creeping into my cheeks. Sarah was too observant.

"I'm just... trying to make this marriage work."

She didn't press. But she didn't need to. Her knowing look said it all.

By the time I returned home that evening, I had talked myself in and out of that dinner a dozen times. But when I saw Blake waiting by the door, blazer off, sleeves rolled, I knew there was no point pretending.

He looked... nervous.

That alone disarmed me.

"You came home early," I said.

He offered a crooked grin. "Wanted to make sure you didn't ghost me."

"You think I would?"

"I think you've got plenty of reasons to."

I walked past him into the living room. "Fair."

He followed me, hand brushing the small of my back. It lingered a second too long.

Dinner was simple—takeout from a Mediterranean place he liked. We ate on the balcony, the city humming below. But our silence wasn't awkward. It was laced with something new. Something real.

Halfway through the meal, he leaned closer.

"I meant what I said last night."

I looked up.

"I'm not here to play games, Celine."

Neither was I.

But the rules we'd written when this all started no longer applied.

"What if we fall?" I whispered.

He reached across the table, fingers finding mine.

"Then we fall together."

It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't poetry. But it was enough to make something shift deep inside me. Because for the first time, it felt like we weren't pretending anymore.

I didn't pull away.

I didn't want to.

And maybe that meant I was already falling.