Seven days.
That's all I have left before I board a plane to London. Seven days before I'm separated from Dominic by an ocean and three thousand miles and the reality that we might not survive the distance.
Seven days to memorize everything about him before I go.
DAY ONE: THE DECISION
I don't go home that night.
After the board meeting, after the devastating conversation with Victoria, after Dominic's desperate kiss in the conference room—I go directly to the penthouse.
Our penthouse.
I'm sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, when I hear the elevator.
Dominic steps out, and the moment he sees me, something in his expression cracks. All that control he maintains so carefully—gone. Just a man who's terrified of losing the woman he loves.
He crosses the space in three strides and pulls me into his arms.
No words. Just holding me like if he lets go, I'll disappear immediately instead of in seven days.
"I can't do this." His voice is muffled against my hair. "I can't let you go."
"You have to."
"No." His arms tighten. "I'll fight the board. I'll sue for wrongful termination. I'll burn the entire company to the ground if that's what it takes—"
"Dominic." I pull back to look at him. "This is the consequence of our choices. We have to face it."
"Then I'm coming with you." His eyes are wild with desperation. "To London. I'll follow you—"
"That defeats the entire purpose." I cup his face in my hands. "They want to know if we can exist separately. If this is real or if it's just... obsession and proximity."
Pain flashes across his face. "It's real. You know it's real."
"I know." I lean my forehead against his. "But they don't. And we have to prove it."
He's shaking. This powerful man who controls billion-dollar companies and intimidates board members—shaking in my arms like he's falling apart.
"Tell me what you need." My voice is soft. "Tell me what you need from me before I go."
His eyes meet mine, dark and desperate and absolutely consuming.
"Everything. I need everything."
DAY TWO: THE CLAIMING
I wake to Dominic's hands on me.
We're in his bed—our bed—and dawn is just breaking through the massive windows. His body is pressed against my back, his arm locked around my waist, his lips against my shoulder.
"Don't move." His voice is rough with sleep and want. "I need to touch you. Please, Bella. Let me touch you."
There's something raw in his voice. Something broken. Like he's asking permission to breathe.
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper.
His hand slides under my shirt—his shirt that I sleep in—palm flat against my stomach. Not sexual yet. Just possessive. Claiming.
"Six more days." His lips trace along my shoulder. "Six more mornings of waking up with you. That's not enough. A lifetime wouldn't be enough."
His hand moves higher, and I arch back against him. He makes a sound deep in his chest—need and desperation wrapped together.
"I'm going to memorize you." His voice is rough against my ear. "Every sound you make. Every way you respond to my touch. So when you're gone, I can remember exactly what it feels like to have you."
His touch becomes more deliberate, more focused. Learning me. Claiming me. Making sure I'll remember this—remember him—when I'm three thousand miles away.
When pleasure finally crashes over me, I cry his name like a prayer.
And he holds me through it, whispering possessive promises against my skin: "Mine. Always mine. Distance doesn't change that."
DAY THREE: THE PHOTOGRAPH
"I need something to take with me." I'm getting dressed for work, and Dominic is watching from the bed like he's memorizing the way I move.
"What do you need?" His voice is immediate. "I'll give you anything."
"A photograph. Of us." I turn to look at him. "I know we can't be public. I know it's dangerous. But I need something to look at when I'm alone in London."
Something vulnerable crosses his face. "We don't have any photographs together."
He's right. Three years of obsession, weeks of this intense relationship, and we don't have a single picture. Everything has been secret. Hidden. Existing only in stolen moments.
"Then let's take one." I grab my phone. "Just one. For me."
He stands, walking to me. When I hold up the phone, he wraps his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. His expression in the camera is softer than I've ever seen it—vulnerable and open and so completely in love it makes my chest ache.
I take the photo.
We both stare at it for a long moment.
"We look happy," I whisper.
"We are happy." His arms tighten. "That's why this is so hard. We finally have what we've been fighting for, and now it's being taken away."
"Not taken away. Just tested."
He takes my phone and stares at the photograph. "Send this to me. I want to see it every day you're gone."
I send it, and his phone buzzes in his pocket.
"Now I have proof," he murmurs. "Proof that you're real. That this is real. That I didn't imagine the way you look at me."
DAY FOUR: THE DINNER
Dominic takes me to dinner.
Not at a public restaurant where we might be seen. At the penthouse, with a private chef he's hired for the evening. The table is set with candles and wine and more effort than I've seen him put into anything that isn't work.
"What's this?" I gesture to the romantic setup.
"A date." He pulls out my chair. "Our first real date. I should have done this months ago. I should have courted you properly instead of just... taking."
"You didn't take anything I didn't give." I sit, and he takes the seat across from me.
"I took your normalcy. Your safe life. Your engagement to a good man." His expression is pained. "I took everything and gave you this chaos in return."
"You also gave me honesty." I reach across the table for his hand. "You gave me intensity. You gave me a version of love I didn't know existed."
"Love that gets you transferred to London." His voice is bitter.
"Love that I'm willing to go to London for." I squeeze his hand. "That means something, Dominic."
Dinner is perfect. The food is extraordinary. The wine is expensive. But neither of us really tastes any of it. We're too focused on each other—storing up memories, memorizing expressions, trying to make time slow down.
After dinner, he pulls me onto the couch. We don't make love. We just hold each other, his hand stroking my hair, my head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.
"Tell me about London," he says softly. "Tell me what you're going to do there."
"Work. Focus on my career without the complication of you." I try to inject some humor, but it falls flat.
"You'll meet people. Other men who'll be interested in you."
I pull back to look at him. "Are you jealous of hypothetical men in London?"
"I'm jealous of everyone who gets to see you when I can't." His hand cups my face. "I'm jealous of the barista who makes your coffee. The cab driver who takes you places. The colleagues who get to work with you. I'm jealous of anyone who exists in your space when I'm not there."
"That's not healthy—"
"I know." His smile is sad. "But it's honest. And you asked me to always be honest with you."
"Then I'll be honest too." I lean into his touch. "I'm terrified. I'm terrified that three months apart will make me realize I was only addicted to you. That without your constant presence, I'll wake up and wonder why I destroyed my life for this."
Pain flashes across his face, but he doesn't look away. "If that happens, if you realize you don't actually love me—promise me you'll tell me. Don't stay out of obligation."
"I promise." I kiss him softly. "And you promise me the same. If three months without me makes you realize you were just obsessed and not actually in love—"
"That won't happen." His certainty is absolute. "My feelings for you aren't based on proximity. They're based on who you are. And that doesn't change regardless of distance."
DAY FIVE: THE FIGHT
We fight.
I don't even remember what starts it. Something small. Something stupid. But suddenly we're both yelling, all the fear and frustration and desperation coming out as anger.
"You're being controlling again!" I shout. "You're trying to plan every detail of my life in London like I'm not capable of handling it myself!"
"Because I'm terrified!" His voice is raw. "I'm terrified you're going to get there and realize you're better off without me!"
"Then let me go! Stop trying to manage everything! Stop trying to control the uncontrollable!"
"I don't know how!" He's pacing now, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know how to love without controlling. I don't know how to care without possessing. It's all I know, Bella!"
"Then learn!" Tears are streaming down my face now. "Learn to let me have space. Learn to trust that I'm choosing you even when you can't see me. Learn to believe I'll come back!"
"What if you don't?" His voice breaks. "What if three months is all it takes for you to realize you're happier without me?"
The vulnerability in his question undoes me.
I cross the space between us and pull him into my arms. "Then that's what we needed to learn. But Dominic—" I pull back to look at him. "I don't think that's what's going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you." I cup his face. "So we trust. We have faith. We survive three months, and then we figure out the rest."
He kisses me then—desperate and possessive and full of fear.
"I love you," he whispers against my lips. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
"I love you too." I kiss him back. "Even when you're being impossible."
"Especially when I'm being impossible," he corrects with a small smile.
DAY SIX: THE PREPARATION
My bags are packed.
Everything I own—which isn't much—is ready to be shipped to London. The penthouse suddenly feels empty, like I'm already gone.
Dominic watches me label the final box, his expression unreadable.
"You're really going." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"And I can't stop you."
"No."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I bought you something."
"Dominic, you don't need to—"
"I need to." He pulls a small box from his pocket.
My heart stops. "If that's a ring—"
"It's not." He opens the box. Inside is a delicate necklace—a simple pendant with coordinates engraved on it.
"What are these coordinates?" I ask.
"This penthouse." His eyes meet mine. "So wherever you are, you can remember where home is. Where I am."
My throat tightens. "Dominic—"
"Let me put it on you."
I turn, and his hands are gentle as he fastens the necklace. His fingers linger on the back of my neck, and I can feel him trembling.
"One more day," he whispers. "One more day before you leave me."
"I'm not leaving you." I turn to face him. "I'm going to London. For work. For three months. But I'm not leaving you."
"It feels the same." His arms wrap around me. "It feels like I'm losing you."
"You're not." I hold him just as tightly. "I promise, Dominic. You're not losing me."
But as we stand there holding each other in the empty penthouse, I wonder if I'm making a promise I can keep.
Because three months is a long time.
And distance changes everything.
DAY SEVEN: THE GOODBYE
The airport car arrives at 6 AM.
I'm dressed. My bags are loaded. Everything is ready.
Except neither of us is ready.
Dominic hasn't slept. I can see it in his eyes—the exhaustion, the desperation, the absolute refusal to accept that this is happening.
"I'm coming with you to the airport." His voice is firm.
"Dominic—"
"I'm coming with you." He picks up my carry-on. "I'm staying with you until the last possible second. That's not negotiable."
I don't argue.
In the car, he holds my hand like I'm his lifeline. His thumb traces circles on my palm—a nervous gesture I've never seen from him before.
At the airport, he walks me to security. As far as he's allowed to go.
"This is it." My voice is shaking.
"This isn't goodbye." His hands cup my face. "This is 'see you in three months.' That's all. Not goodbye."
"See you in three months." Tears are streaming down my face now.
He kisses me. In the middle of the airport, in front of everyone, not caring who sees or what it means.
When he pulls back, his own eyes are wet.
"I love you, Bella Chen. Distance doesn't change that. Time doesn't change that. Nothing changes that."
"I love you too." I kiss him one more time. "I'll call you when I land."
"I'll be waiting."
I force myself to step back. To walk toward security. To not look back because if I look back, I'll run to him and never leave.
But at the security checkpoint, I can't help it.
I turn.
He's still standing there, watching me. His expression is devastating—love and loss and desperate hope all at once.
I touch the necklace he gave me.
He sees the gesture and places his hand over his heart.
Then I turn and walk through security.
And I don't look back again.