Asher

Alone in my office, the glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on the spreadsheets before me.

Despite my best attempts to lose myself in the numbers, thoughts of Emma infiltrate every corner of my mind. The quarterly reports are nothing but a blurry backdrop to the vivid images of her accusing eyes filled with mistrust.

Guilt and frustration churn within me like a storm. I can't shake off the regret of walking out on her yesterday. It was a rash move, a knee-jerk reaction fueled by a whirlwind of hurt and confusion.

Yet, in the chaos, I had convinced myself that taking a step back was necessary to prevent irreversible damage from words spoken in the heat of the moment.

Now, I'm not sure I made the right decision.

People warned me about the pressures that would accompany Max's plan. The watchful eyes of competitors, the endless working hours, the invasion of privacy, and the constant speculation about our lives were all expected.

I just had no idea how the press would feast on every crumb of our personal life, how they'd be the ones building an edge between Emma and me.

Grabbing my phone, my heart tugs at the picture on the lock screen-a selfie of Emma and me when I surprised her with the penthouse. She's looking at the camera with a big smile, her eyes shining with happiness. Gorgeous.

Fuck! I'd do anything to go back to that day.

Everyone looking at the photo would see how far gone I am with this woman. While she's looking at the camera I'm looking at her with a whipped smile on my face.

How could she insinuate I'd sleep with another woman when I'm so in love with her?

The ache of her distrust clings to me, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm teetering on the edge with her. If I were in her shoes, I'd want an explanation too. But I'd never assume she'd cheat on me.

The knot in my chest tightens at the assumption that I would do that to her. Especially after she lectured me about trust when I expressed my discomfort with her talking to her ex.

Letting out a frustrated breath, I know I'll need to be the one to reach out first, so I send her a text.

ME: "Sorry for leaving the way I did yesterday. Can we talk, please?"

Just as I hit send, my secretary's voice erupts from the phone's speaker. "Mr. Sullivan," Parker says. "There's a Clare Stuart in the lobby asking for you. She's asking if you're free?"

My mind swirls with conflicting emotions as Clare's name echoes through my office, but curiosity gets the best of me.

"Ask her to come up, please," I tell him.

In a few minutes, Clare strides into my office. Her eyes light up when she sees me, and I quickly stand up to greet her.

"Clare," I say, motioning for her to take a seat on the lounging couch.

"Hey, you." She pulls me into a hug. "Sorry for dropping by unannounced. It didn't hit me until I got here that you're this big-shot CEO now."

I manage a half-smile. "Still getting used to it myself."

She settles into the couch, her eyes holding a trace of familiarity that makes me pause. "I was passing by and thought I'd drop these off," she says, producing two tickets from her purse. "There's a James Bennett's exposition going on this weekend. I have a last-minute business trip, so I can't make it. You should take Emma."

Sitting down on an armchair in front of her, I take the tickets from her hands as a mix of gratitude and surprise washes over me. "Thanks, Clare. That's really thoughtful of you."

"I thought you'd enjoy them." Her eyes lock onto mine, and a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Remember when you first met him? You were so inspired. I honestly think you took the best photos of your life that year."

I nod, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. Those were simpler times when my passion for photography consumed me entirely and I wasn't stuck with endless corporate stuff.

"You are brilliant, Ash," she continues, her voice laced with a touch of admiration that is hard to ignore. "When you told me yesterday that your photography days were over... I just... You have this fire, this drive that I haven't seen in anyone else. I can't believe you're letting your passion go like this."

The air in the room charges, memories pulling me into a world where my identity wasn't defined by corporate responsibilities. Clare's words echo in my mind, and for a moment, I'm transported back to the days when the lens of my camera were my only confidant.

She leans in slightly; her gaze intense. "You've changed, Asher. The spark in your eyes, the passion for what you love... It's still there, buried beneath this CEO facade."

"This is not a facade." I shrug, looking away for a moment. "This is my life now."

"You told me once you'd never want to be caught in just one place... The world has always been your home."

"Things change."

"And now you were about to tie the knots and this..." She looks around my office before bringing her eyes to me.

"What are you getting at, Clare?"

She shakes her head, a little chuckle leaving her lips. "I'm sorry, I don't want to upset you." She leans forward in her seat, her eyes fixed on mine. "I guess I'm just saying that I'm here for you as I've always been."

I swallow, my gaze instinctively shifting downward as if the answers to the complexities of my feelings lie hidden in the patterns of the floor.

Our relationship, casual and uncomplicated, had followed a familiar rhythm-a silent arrangement that seemed to operate smoothly. We'd get together whenever we were in the same city and then we'd part ways and keep going with our separate lives.

Things were neatly compartmentalized for the sake of convenience. It was a smooth rhythm, a dance of connection that worked seamlessly for us. Especially when I managed to convince myself, through a skillful act of self-deception, that I had successfully moved on from the woman who had always owned my heart: Emma.

"I appreciate the tickets, but I have a meeting shortly that I need to prepare for." I stand up but keep my eyes on hers, open and sincere. There's no way I'm going back to what we had before. I hope she gets the message.

She straightens up, disappointment fleeting across her features. "Of course. Duty calls. It was nice seeing you, Ash."

"Take care, Clare."

As she heads towards the door, she turns back, her eyes lingering on me. "Just think about what I said, Ash. Don't let the corporate world erase who you truly are."

Alone in my office again, I approach the expansive windows, framing a sweeping view of New York. The city sprawls beneath me-a dynamic canvas of towering skyscrapers and bustling streets contributing to the vibrant tapestry of urban life.

Without thinking much, I grab my phone and activate the camera. My photographer's instincts kick in immediately, and I start capturing moments of the city below.

The soft clicks of the camera shutter echo in the quiet office, a rhythmic blend with the city's pulse. Framing shots of the iconic skyline and the play of light on the architecture becomes a fleeting escape, a momentary breather from the complexities of my personal and professional life.

Just as I return the phone to my pocket, it pings with a message. Relief washes over me as Emma's name illuminates the screen, and I feel like I can finally breathe again.

EMMA: I'm willing to talk if you are. When and where?

I can practically see the roll of her eyes as she typed the words, but her willingness to talk gives me hope.

ME: Our place. 6 PM.

*****

Stuck in a pivotal meeting, time stretched relentlessly, and it wasn't until nearly nine in the evening that I could finally untangle myself from the boardroom.

What started as a straightforward discussion morphed into a labyrinth of responsibilities and unexpected challenges, thwarting my attempts to leave early. Resolving one issue led to another, and the complexities of corporate decision-making held me captive for hours straight.

As soon as I realized that I was going to be late, weariness clung to me, and a wave of guilt lingered as I shot Emma a text, detailing the unexpected delays.

She never texted me back, which only amplified the quiet unease that followed me throughout the rest of the day.

Stepping through the entrance of our penthouse, I'm greeted with dimmed lights, just a solitary lamp casting a soft, amber glow across the living room.

My eyes instinctively land on Emma, peacefully asleep on the couch. She's curled up in a relaxed position, the soft cushions providing a comfortable embrace.

I want to freeze this moment.

A sudden realization hits me so fast, like a tidal wave crashing over my senses. I want this. The simple act of coming home to Emma's side every single day.

God, I want this so much.

The weight of the day's challenges and the relentless pace of corporate demands all fade away in the face of this profound revelation. It's not just about a place to return to. It's about returning to her, to the comfort of her presence that makes everything worth it.

This is home.

With a new sense of purpose, I quietly remove my shoes, jacket, and tie and approach her.

Carefully lifting her into my arms, a surge of protectiveness courses through me. The dim light casts a soft glow on her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek and the tendrils of hair that frame it.

Beautiful.

Mine.

Moving toward our bedroom, I navigate through the familiar space, each step reinforcing the significance of this place for us.

As I gently lay her on our bed, she stirs, her eyes fluttering open. Right now, words seem inadequate. The quiet understanding between us is palpable.

"Asher?" she whispers, her voice filled with apprehension.

Settling beside her, I feel the echoes of the day dissipate. "I love you. Let's start this conversation by establishing that first."

_____

A/N: Okay, that's the perfect way to start this conversation, right? Do you think you guys will be able to forgive him?

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XOXO

Celeste