DALTON
The drive home was quiet too quiet. Marcus said nothing, probably because he'd learned to read the air around me. I stared out the window as the city lights bled into the tinted glass. The world moved on, indifferent.
It was supposed to be simple. Promise a dying man I'd look after his daughter. Make sure she was okay. Move on.
But nothing about her had been simple.
By the time we reached the house, the night had settled thick and heavy. I climbed the steps, the faint echo of my shoes bouncing off marble floors. My home a sprawling glass and steel monument to control felt colder than usual.
Mrs. Higgins, my housekeeper, met me at the door, as punctual as ever. She was a woman whose efficiency mirrored my own, her movements silent and precise. "Welcome home, Mr. Gray," she said softly. "You've had quite a week."
"That's one way to put it." My voice came out rough.
She followed me to my office, waiting at the door like she always did for the daily update. "Your dinner's ready, sir," she said. "I'll be heading out now unless you need anything else."
I nodded distractedly, setting my phone and keys down on the polished desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Higgins."
She turned to leave, but something stopped me.
"Wait."
She paused, half-turning. "Sir?"
"Prepare one of the guest rooms," I said.
Her brows lifted. "For a guest?"
"No," I said, eyes flicking to the open window. "For someone who'll be staying."
The silence that followed was almost comical. Mrs. Higgins blinked twice, as if I'd just told her I was adopting a circus elephant.
"Someone… will be moving in?"
"Yes."
She tried to hide her surprise, but her lips twitched. "You don't like people in your house, sir."
"I'm aware," I muttered, rubbing my temple.
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll prepare it first thing in the morning."
"Thank you."
She gave me a curious look before finally leaving. I waited until the front door clicked shut before exhaling.
I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
I loosened my tie, heading for the shower. The hot water hit my back, washing away the dust of the day but not the image of Aria Davis standing in the cemetery, her hands trembling as the priest said his last words.
She hadn't made a sound. Not a tear, not a word. Just… silence. That kind of pain didn't need volume it was written in every line of her face.
I closed my eyes. Damn it.
When I finally stepped out, I felt heavier than before. I threw on a plain shirt, dark grey sweatpants, and made my way to my office again. Work was supposed to help the one constant in a world I couldn't control.
Three missed meetings. Dozens of unread emails. Two proposals waiting for approval. Elaine had called me five times already most probably about work.I have ever taken so much time off for personal matter.
I guess there's a first time for everything and today I'm having a lot of firsts.
I hit her number. Elaine.
For the next two hours or so, I buried myself in the noise stock reports, merger logistics, board decisions. Numbers, projections, graphs the language I understood best. Elaine filled me in efficiently, and by the time I hung up, I should've felt grounded again.
I didn't.
Instead, all I could think about was her.
Aria Davis.
The stubborn, sharp-tongued barista who had the nerve to call me out in public who now sat alone in that crumbling house, surrounded by ghosts.
Logic said to leave her be. Emotion said otherwise.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming the desk. "You're losing it, Gray," I muttered.
Still, my hand found my phone.
Has she eaten?
"Marcus."
"Yes, sir?" His voice came through instantly.
"Get some food delivered to Miss Davis's house. Something decent not that cheap junk she eats."
He hesitated. "It's pretty late, sir."
"Then make it breakfast," I said curtly. "Something light but filling. Make sure she gets it."
"Yes, sir."
I hung up before he could question it further.
It was stupid. I had no reason to interfere. She'd made it clear she didn't want me around. But the image of her alone in that dark house the silence, the grief it wouldn't leave me.
I told myself it was because of John. I owed him this. That's what I kept repeating. But deep down, I knew better.
It started the moment I saw her at The Grind. The woman behind the counter with fire in her eyes, rolling them at me like I was just another spoiled customer. She hadn't recognized me then not as the man her father once worked for. She treated me like a problem to solve, not a person to impress.
And that had gotten under my skin.
Now here I was, days later, rearranging my life for her without a second thought.
Ridiculous.
I tried to refocus on the spreadsheets in front of me, but the lines blurred. The room felt too big, too silent. I loosened my collar, glancing at the clock. Midnight.
The phone buzzed again. Marcus.
"Yes?"
"She took the food," he said. "After a fuss. Tried to argue she didn't need it, but I told her you insisted."
"Did she eat?"
"I think so. Eventually."
"And… how is she?"
There was a pause. Marcus's voice dropped a little. "Sir, I've never seen anyone so sad before. She looked… lost. Like she didn't know what to do with herself."
Something inside me clenched sharp, unfamiliar.
"Understood," I said, though my throat felt tight. "Go home, Marcus."
"Yes, sir."
I ended the call and sat there in silence, staring at the empty space across from me.
That was it. The last push I needed.
I could justify everything else the food, the calls, the arrangements as fulfilling a promise. But leaving her in that state? Alone, vulnerable, falling apart? That wasn't an option anymore.
John Davis had trusted me. He'd made me promise I'd look after her.
And I was going to do just that whether she liked it or not.
Her diabetes required consistent management she was clearly incapable of providing herself in her current state she doesn't have the means to manage anything let alone her health.
I stood, walking to the massive window overlooking the city. The skyline shimmered in the distance tall, beautiful, untouchable. Just like the world I'd built for myself.
And now I was about to let someone like her into it. Someone who didn't fit. Someone who would turn it all upside down.
She would fight me every step of the way. She would hate the very air in my penthouse.
What a joy.
What a fucking joy.
I smirked at the thought, shaking my head. "You're really doing this," I muttered.
I walked out into the hallway, lights dimmed to a low glow. The house was spotless, every surface gleaming yet it felt sterile, lifeless.
When Mrs. Higgins comes in tomorrow, she will prepare the guest room. And soon, Aria Davis would be here in my space, my order, my carefully constructed world.
A reckless move. A stupid one. But one I couldn't stop myself from making.
I sank back into my chair, rubbing my jaw. For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like Dalton Gray, the man who could buy and sell empires. I just felt… responsible. And maybe, if I were being brutally honest, afraid.
Because Aria Davis was the kind of woman who could tear down everything I'd built not out of malice, but simply by existing.
And somehow, I was already letting her in.
I opened my laptop again, not to work this time, but to send one final message.
To: Marcus
Subject: Miss Davis
Message: "Start arranging transport for her things. She'll be moving in."
I hit send.
The line had been crossed.
And I knew after this nothing will ever be the same again.