The city stretched before them like a promise neither could quite trust.
Naomi's hand remained in Luca's as they sat on the rooftop ledge, the wind unraveling the silence between them.
"I don't know what comes next," she admitted, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I don't have a plan anymore."
"You don't need one with me," he said, voice rough. "But you should know—I can't promise easy. Loving me is never going to be simple."
She looked up at him, eyes soft but resolute. "I'm not looking for simple. I just need honest."
He nodded, jaw tight. "Then here's honesty: I'm still fighting charges. The board could toss me any day. The media's circling like vultures."
"I know," she said. "And I walked away from my career to be with you."
"You didn't walk away for me." He turned to her. "You did it for yourself. Because you refused to be a puppet. That's why I love you."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Do you think we'll survive this?"
Luca's fingers found her cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think we already did."
---
Weeks later
Their apartment was small. Old wood floors. Cracked paint.
But it was theirs.
Naomi typed from the kitchen table, notes for a new article she'd pitched on journalistic ethics. A freelance start, but her words were finally her own.
Luca moved behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, lips brushing the curve of her neck.
"Your publisher's going to ask how you got your exclusive," he murmured.
"I'll tell them I slept with the source," she said, smiling faintly.
He laughed. "And was it worth it?"
She turned in his arms, kissing him slow, deep, aching.
"Yes," she said against his lips. "Even if the world burns."
---
One year later
They stood beneath the city skyline—older, a little more scarred.
Naomi's article had gone viral. A brutally honest takedown of corporate control in media. She'd become a name, not a whisper.
Luca had lost the company.
But not his name. He'd walked away with his head high, starting something smaller. Leaner. His.
They hadn't married. Not yet.
But they wore each other like skin.
She watched him from across the rooftop—sunset bleeding gold behind him.
And when he looked at her like that—like she was the truth he'd never believed in—she knew that what they'd built wasn't perfect.
It was flawed. Human. Risky.
But it was real.
Bittersweet.
And it was enough.
---
The End