Cecilia's POV
I had barely finished tying my blond curls into a loose bun when my phone buzzed.
Samuel: Don't forget lunch at Hartford HQ today. I already made reservations at the rooftop café.
I stared at the text, half-smiling, half-eye-rolling. Why was this man so infuriatingly charming? After everything, he still knew how to press my buttons—and my heartstrings. We'd had an intense few days—his ex, my jealousy, his declarations. And now… lunch?
I typed back:
Me: If you think feeding me avocado toast will make me forgive you, think again. I pray you don't kill me with dates.
He replied with a laughing emoji and a GIF of a baby offering flowers.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide.
Despite the unresolved tension between us, I still picked out my favorite blouse—silky cream, with gold buttons—and a pencil skirt that hugged my hips just right. I wasn't going to make it easy for him, but I wasn't going to show up looking like I'd lost either.
As I stepped into the elevator of Hartford HQ, I heard voices.
"She's just a secretary, and suddenly she's in private lunches with the CEO?"
"Did you see how he looks at her? It's obvious she seduced him."
"She's playing the long game. Probably trapping him with the baby."
My chest tightened. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
I took a step forward and the two women in HR froze as they noticed I was standing behind them.
"Oh—Miss Cecilia—I mean, Ms. Brooks!" one of them stammered, her face going pale.
I looked from one to the other and smiled sweetly. "Don't stop on my account. I'm sure you were about to say how hard-working I am."
The elevator dinged and I walked out with my head held high—heart pounding but face composed.
Why did I care what they thought?
I knew the answer. Because somewhere, buried under the layers of stubborn pride, I cared what Samuel thought too.
Samuel's POV
I waited on the rooftop, leaning on the railing with my blazer off and sleeves rolled up. I had even rehearsed an apology, just in case Cecilia came in guns blazing from whatever storm was brewing inside her.
The door opened, and there she was.
She looked like summer and ambition rolled into one. Her heels clicked with every step, her skirt swayed gently with her walk, and her gaze—sharp and unreadable—landed on me like a challenge.
"I see you're dressed to kill," I said, trying to play it cool.
She arched a brow. "Well, I heard rumors I'm a seductress now. Might as well live up to expectations."
My smile faltered. "You heard about the elevator?"
"You knew?"
"HR reports everything. But I didn't want to ruin your day. I was going to fire them after dessert."
"Samuel!"
"Okay, reassign them to basement filing duty."
Despite herself, she let out a little laugh.
I pulled out the chair for her. "Sit. No manipulation today. Just grilled salmon and an awkward but honest conversation."
She hesitated, then sat. "Fine. But if you say anything stupid, I reserve the right to walk out."
"Fair enough."
We ordered, then sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt like waves before a storm.
"I'm sorry," I finally said. "For not believing you. For doubting Leo. For letting the past mess with our present."
Cecilia's eyes glistened for a second before she blinked it away. "That's… not nothing."
"I got the DNA results. Leo is mine. I knew it when I saw his smile. But I needed proof. And now that I have it…" I reached out across the table. "I want to do this. Us. You. Leo. A family."
Cecilia looked away, chewing her bottom lip. "I'm scared, Samuel. You left once. How do I know you won't do it again?"
"Because now I know what it feels like to lose you. And I'm not risking that ever again."
She didn't reply. The server came with food, breaking the tension.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Cecilia chuckled softly.
"What?"
"You're still bad at cutting salmon."
"It's the knife!" I defended myself.
She rolled her eyes, and something in the air shifted—warmer now, lighter.
"You want to know something funny?" she asked, twirling her fork.
"What?"
"I never stopped loving you. Even when I wanted to punch you."
"Same here." I grinned. "Except I wanted to kiss you. And maybe punch myself."
She laughed. And then—just like that—the distance between us shrank.
After dessert, we lingered, talking about everything and nothing—Leo's silly tantrums, how we both hated Mondays, and my inability to do laundry properly.
"Still separating whites and colors like it's high school politics?" she teased.
"Don't judge me. I own three white shirts and a dream."
She laughed again, the kind that made the world feel right.
And then—it happened.
A quiet moment. Her eyes locked with mine. The city blurred behind her. Her lips parted just slightly.
I leaned in.
She didn't pull back.
Our lips met. Warm. Familiar. Electric.
But just as I tilted her chin to deepen the kiss, she broke away suddenly, cheeks flushed.
"I… I shouldn't."
"Cecilia—"
"I can't just fall back into your arms. That's too easy. I have to protect myself. And Leo."
"I don't want easy. I want real."
She stood, grabbing her purse. "Then earn it."
"I'll take you home," I said, not wanting to let her walk out alone.
The drive was silent—but not awkward. Just full of things unsaid.
When we reached her apartment, I walked her to the door. She turned, hesitating.
I opened my arms. She stepped in.
Just a hug. But it said more than words.
As I pulled back, I whispered, "Goodnight, Cecilia."
She looked up at me, eyes soft. "Goodnight, Samuel."
And then—she was gone.