The rain had softened to a drizzle by morning. London looked washed clean — the streets gleaming, the air sharp with the scent of wet earth and coffee.
Ava walked through the park near the Thames, her coat pulled tightly around her. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him — the warmth of his touch, the weight of his gaze, the way his voice had broken when he said, You make it impossible to breathe.
She stopped by the river, watching the water move — dark, restless, unstoppable.
It felt like her.
She didn't know how long she stood there before she heard footsteps approach behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Couldn't stay away, could you?" she said quietly.
Sebastian stopped beside her, hands in his pockets, coat collar turned up against the chill. "I could ask you the same."
A small smile touched her lips. "You followed me."
"I didn't plan to." His voice was low, rough from lack of sleep. "I just… needed air. And somehow, I ended up here."
"Strange how that happens."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching a small boat cut through the water. The city hummed softly around them — distant traffic, the sound of early morning life.
Finally, Sebastian spoke. "I can't pretend last night didn't happen."
Ava's pulse quickened. "Do you regret it?"
He turned toward her, his eyes unreadable. "No." He paused. "But I don't know what to do with it."
"Maybe we don't have to do anything," she said softly. "Maybe we just… let it exist."
"That's not how I work, Ava."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe that's the problem."
They started walking, following the curve of the river. It was quiet, almost peaceful. Their hands brushed once — a brief, accidental touch that felt anything but accidental.
Sebastian cleared his throat. "There's a café around the corner. Let me buy you breakfast."
She raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast? Are we pretending to be normal people now?"
He almost smiled. "I'd like to try."
The café was small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. Inside, the air was warm, scented with cinnamon and roasted coffee. They took a corner table by the window, away from the few early customers.
Ava ordered tea; Sebastian, black coffee. For a few minutes, neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn't awkward — it was charged, almost tender.
"You know," she said finally, stirring her tea, "you look almost human when you're not behind that glass tower."
He chuckled under his breath. "Almost?"
"You still have that CEO energy. It's hard to miss."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Depends who's asking," she teased.
His gaze softened. "You're different outside the studio."
"So are you."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. "You make it sound like I'm two people."
"Maybe you are." She met his eyes. "The man who runs ValeTech and the man who stood in front of me last night — they're not the same."
He looked down, his jaw tightening. "Maybe one of them isn't real."
"Or maybe both are," she countered. "You just don't know which one you want to be."
He exhaled slowly, and for a moment, the mask slipped. There it was again — the vulnerability she'd seen beneath his armor. The man, not the myth.
Ava reached across the table and brushed her fingers against his hand. He didn't move away. Their hands stayed there — connected, quiet, steady.
"Do you ever just stop?" she asked softly. "Stop being the man everyone expects you to be?"
He thought about it. "Not until you."
Her heart stuttered. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is."
A flicker of tension passed between them — subtle, invisible, but potent.
He squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "Come with me," he said.
She frowned. "Where?"
"Just… trust me."
He led her through the streets, past crowded sidewalks and rainy corners, until they reached a narrow alley that opened into a small art gallery — one of those hidden gems known only to locals.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of old wood and oil paint. The walls were lined with vibrant canvases, light catching every stroke.
Ava's breath caught. "This place is beautiful."
"I come here sometimes," Sebastian said quietly. "When I need to remember that not everything has to be perfect."
She smiled. "That's very un-CEO of you."
"Don't tell anyone."
They walked slowly, side by side, stopping at a portrait — a woman standing in the rain, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sky.
"She looks free," Ava murmured.
"She looks like you," he said.
She turned to him, startled, and for a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other — no pretense, no walls. Just truth.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I keep telling myself to let you go, Ava. But every time I try, I end up finding you again."
"Maybe that's the universe telling you something," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, a rare softness in his eyes. "And what's it telling me now?"
"That some things aren't meant to be controlled."
For a long, suspended moment, they stood there in the quiet of the gallery — surrounded by art, by stories painted into silence. His fingers brushed hers again, light, uncertain, reverent.
The world outside was loud and endless, but here, it was only them — two people standing on the edge of something too real to deny.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "If I'm falling, Ava, it's your fault."
She smiled sadly. "Then maybe we're both falling."
And for once, Sebastian Vale didn't resist. He just let it happen.
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