Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~9 min read
HANNAH
He came back twenty minutes later.
I heard his knock—different from Connor’s aggressive pounding. Quieter. Almost hesitant.
I should’ve ignored it. Should’ve pretended I wasn’t home. Should’ve let him walk away for real this time.
Instead, I opened the door.
Oliver stood in the hallway, still in his rumpled work clothes, looking like he’d been to hell and back in twenty minutes.
“I can’t do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Walk away from you.”
My heart stopped. Started again. “Oliver—”
“I tried. I got in my car. I drove three blocks. And I just—I can’t.” He stepped closer. Not inside, but close enough that I could smell his cologne. Cedar and citrus and everything I wanted. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re engaged!” The words came out sharp. Desperate. “Because you’re my boss. Because this is wrong and complicated and going to ruin everything.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’d rather have one more night with you than a lifetime of safe choices.”
The words hit me like a tidal wave.
I should’ve been strong. Should’ve closed the door in his face. Should’ve protected both of us from what was about to happen.
Instead, I grabbed his tie and pulled him inside.
OLIVER
The door slammed shut behind me and then her mouth was on mine, fierce and desperate and perfect.
This wasn’t like the first time. That had been soft, exploratory, two people discovering each other.
This was combustion.
All the anger and frustration and longing from the past three weeks poured into the kiss. Her hands fisted in my hair. My hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against me.
“I hate you,” she gasped against my mouth.
“I know.”
“You lied to me.”
“You left without a word.”
“You paid me like a whore!”
“I was trying to HELP you!”
The words ricocheted between us, three weeks of hurt finally exploding.
“You made me feel like I was nothing,” Hannah said, her voice breaking. “Like I was something you used and discarded.”
“You were everything. You ARE everything. That’s the problem.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m a coward.” I cupped her face, made her look at me. “Because I woke up with you in my arms and panicked. Because my entire life was crashing down and I didn’t know how to keep you safe from the wreckage.”
“So you left me money.”
“So I left you money.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I have done a LOT of stupid things.”
She laughed. It sounded wet. “You’re an idiot.”
“Complete idiot.”
“And you’re engaged.”
“I know.”
“To someone perfect.”
“She’s not you.”
Hannah pulled back, searched my eyes. “What are we doing, Oliver?”
“Something incredibly stupid.”
“I know. But I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this. Don’t want you.”
“Then don’t pretend.”
I kissed her again. Slower this time. Thorough. Pouring three weeks of missing her into the contact.
She melted against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine like it had been designed for this. For us.
“This is wrong,” she whispered against my mouth.
“I know.”
“You’re getting married in eight weeks.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to regret this.”
“I know.” I pulled back just enough to see her face. “But I’ll regret walking away more.”
Truth. Raw and honest and terrifying.
Hannah’s eyes searched mine. Looking for what, I didn’t know. Permission. Absolution. Proof that this was worth the cost.
Whatever she found, it was enough.
“Stay,” she said. “Not like last time. Stay for real. All night. Let me wake up with you still here.”
The request broke something in me.
“Okay.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
She took my hand. Led me toward her bedroom.
And I followed, knowing this was a mistake, knowing we’d both pay for it, and not caring at all.
HANNAH
This time was different.
Last time had been desperate and urgent and beautiful. But this time, we knew what we were doing. Knew the cost. Knew we were choosing each other anyway, consequences be damned.
Oliver touched me like I was precious. Like he was memorizing every inch of skin, every sound, every breath.
“I thought about you every day,” he murmured against my neck. “Every. Single. Day.”
“I tried not to think about you.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
He smiled against my skin. “Good.”
Clothes disappeared. The city lights filtered through my window, painting shadows across the bed. Somewhere outside, the world kept turning. Somewhere, Oliver had a fiancée and I had a job and neither of us were supposed to be doing this.
But in my small bedroom, in my cheap apartment that was nothing like his penthouse, we were just Oliver and Hannah.
No titles. No expectations. No lies.
Just us.
After, we lay tangled together in sheets that weren’t silk, in a bed that wasn’t massive, in a life that wasn’t perfect but felt more real than anything I’d had before.
“This is wrong,” I said again. Quieter this time.
“I know.”
“You’re going to marry her.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
I lifted my head, looked at him. “What does that mean?”
Oliver stared at the ceiling. “It means I’ve spent three weeks trying to convince myself I could go through with it. That I could marry Vivian and live with the choice. And then you walked into my office and everything I’d been telling myself fell apart.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at me. “What do you want me to say?”
What did I want? For him to call off the wedding. To choose me. To risk everything for a relationship that might not even work.
It was too much to ask.
“I want you to be honest,” I said instead. “With her. With yourself. With me.”
“The truth is I don’t love her. I never have.”
“Does she love you?”
“No. It’s a business arrangement. Both our families benefit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My father’s will requires me to be married by thirty-five. Vivian’s family needs the financial security. It makes sense on paper.”
“And in reality?”
“In reality, I’m lying in bed with my assistant, having the best night I’ve had in months, and realizing everything I thought I wanted is wrong.”
Hope flared in my chest. Dangerous, desperate hope.
“Oliver—”
“But I don’t know if that’s enough. To walk away from the company. From my father’s legacy. From the life I’ve been building toward since I was born.” He looked at me. “Is that selfish?”
“No. It’s honest.”
“What would you do? If you were me.”
I considered this. Really considered it.
“I’d ask myself what I’d regret more,” I said finally. “Losing the company or losing the person who makes me feel real.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then: “I need time. To figure this out. To find a way—”
“I know.” I pressed a kiss to his chest. “I’m not asking you to burn your life down. I’m just asking you to be honest about what you want.”
“I want you.” No hesitation. “I want this. Want to wake up every morning with you in my arms. Want to hear about your day. Want to help you build your dreams.” He pulled me closer. “But I don’t know if wanting something is enough.”
“It’s a start.”
We fell silent. Outside, sirens wailed. Someone’s TV played too loud. Life in a cheap apartment building, so different from his pristine penthouse.
“Stay,” I whispered again. “Like you promised.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And for one night, I believed him.
OLIVER
I left at sunrise.
Not because I wanted to. Because I had an early meeting with Tokyo and if I didn’t show, it would raise questions I couldn’t answer.
But I did what I’d failed to do last time.
I left a note.
Had to go—Tokyo call at 6. Wish I could stay. Last night was real. All of it. I meant what I said. – O
I also left my personal number. The one only five people had.
Then I kissed her forehead—she was still sleeping, peaceful and perfect—and forced myself to leave.
The drive home felt different. The city looked different. Everything looked different when you’d just spent the night with the right person.
I had eight weeks to figure this out. Eight weeks to find a way to keep both Hannah and the company. Eight weeks to become the man who deserved her instead of the coward who kept walking away.
It felt impossible.
But for the first time in months, I felt something like hope.
HANNAH
I woke to an empty bed and a full heart.
He’d left a note this time. His number. Proof that last night had been real.
I pressed the paper to my chest and let myself smile.
This was still complicated. Still wrong. Still going to end badly, probably.
But for now, it was mine.
I got up, showered, hummed while making coffee. Put on my work clothes and felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Then I opened my door to leave for work.
And found the envelope.
Plain white. No name. Just sitting on my doormat like a bomb waiting to detonate.
I picked it up with shaking hands.
Inside: photos. A dozen of them. Black and white. Time-stamped from last night.
Oliver entering my building. Oliver in the hallway. Oliver knocking on my door. Me pulling him inside.
They weren’t explicit. But they told a story. One that was impossible to deny.
And underneath the photos, a note in handwriting I recognized:
Pay me $50,000 or these go to the tabloids. You have one week. I’ll be in touch. – C
Connor.
Connor had followed Oliver. Had taken photos. Had been watching.
And now he was blackmailing me.
The coffee cup slipped from my hands. Shattered on the floor.
And just like that, my perfect night became my worst nightmare.
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