That evening the penthouse was unusually quiet.
Rayden stepped inside, loosening his tie, the weight of unread emails and boardroom tension still clinging to his shoulders.
He expected the usual rhythm—Anne reading on the couch, a mug of tea in hand, the faint hum of her music drifting through the space.
But tonight, the silence felt heavier.
He found her in the kitchen, sitting alone at the dining table, the lights dimmed low. Her back was to him. She didn't turn when he walked in.
"Anne?"
She looked up slowly. "Hey."
Her voice was calm. Too calm. Her eyes met his—but they didn't hold him the way they usually did. It was like she was somewhere far off, just barely tethered to the room.
Rayden's jaw tensed. "Did something happen?"
Anne hesitated. "Your mother came."
His expression darkened immediately. "What did she say?"
She paused, fingers tightening slightly around her glass. "She told me about Blair."
Rayden's entire body stilled.
"She told me… everything."
A long, loaded silence.
Rayden set down his keys with quiet precision. "She had no right."
"She wanted me to be scared." Anne's voice was steady, but there was something fragile under the surface. "Wanted me to believe that if I stayed, I'd end up broken. Or worse."
Rayden stepped closer, his voice low. "And do you... believe that?"
Anne looked up at him.
The man before her was no longer the untouchable CEO. There was something vulnerable in the shadows of his face. A war waged silently behind his eyes.
"I don't know what scares me more," she said. "That she might be right… or that I don't want to leave."
Rayden's breath hitched.
That was the crack. The shift.
The words he hadn't expected to hear—because he was supposed to be the one pulling away. Keeping her at arm's length.
But now…
Now she was the one standing on the edge—and he wanted to reach for her.
He stepped forward, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she might vanish.
"You shouldn't have to carry my past."
"Too late," she whispered.
Another beat of silence passed.
Rayden gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. "She died because I couldn't love her. Not the way she needed."
Anne looked up at him, eyes glistening. "Do you think you can love at all?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his thumb grazed her cheekbone, and for a moment, time folded in on itself.
Then—he kissed her.
This time, it wasn't for the cameras. No audience. No pretenses.
Just lips that trembled slightly at the start… then found each other like two truths that had waited too long to be spoken.
When they finally pulled apart, Anne didn't move away.
But she didn't smile either.
Because something had changed.
Not just between them—but inside them.
And they both knew—
There was no going back now.
———
Rayden hadn't said a word since the kiss.
Anne didn't ask him to.
The silence between them was no longer cold—it was warm, like an embrace neither of them knew how to describe. She simply took his hand, and he followed.
Into his room.
It surprised her how clean it was. How empty. No photos. No clutter. Just a king-sized bed, dark curtains, and the faint scent of cedarwood clinging to the sheets.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, suddenly unsure what came next.
But Rayden was already pulling off his suit. "Stay," he said softly. "Please."
The way he said it—pleading, not demanding—made her chest tighten.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.
He didn't touch her at first.
He simply lay beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling, the weight of their pasts pressing down like a second blanket.
Minutes passed.
Then, gently, Rayden shifted closer, his fingers grazing hers. She didn't pull away. He curled toward her like he was trying to hide inside her warmth—his forehead brushing her shoulder, one arm draped carefully around her waist.
Anne blinked back the sting in her eyes.
He was trembling.
She turned to face him fully, and to her quiet heartbreak, saw it—
Rayden Lancaster, the untouchable billionaire, was holding back tears.
Wordlessly, she pulled him into her arms.
He buried his face in her chest.
Like a child.
Like a man who had spent far too long pretending he didn't need anyone.
His breath was shaky. "She didn't deserve what happened to her."
"I know," Anne whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "But that wasn't your fault."
"She wanted someone better."
"She wanted you to love her," Anne said gently. "But love isn't a switch. You can't force it, no matter how much someone deserves it."
Rayden clung to her tighter. "I didn't even try. I'm a monster."
"Yes, you did try" she said, kissing the top of his head. "In your own way. Maybe it wasn't enough for her. But that doesn't make you a monster."
Silence.
Then, softer than she'd ever heard from him—
"I'm tired, Anne."
"I know."
"I don't want to be a monster."
"You're not."
And just like that, he let himself fall.
No masks. No pride. No walls.
Just a man letting someone hold his broken pieces.
Rayden fall asleep in her body, his eyes still shed tears.
Anne stayed awake for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it calmed, as the tension left his body.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
But tonight, in this quiet space between pain and healing, she held Rayden Lancaster like he was the most fragile thing in the world.
And for once, he let her.