One Hour
Lily left the mansion with her heart pounding.
Not because she was afraid—but because she was finally choosing something for herself.
She dressed simply: jeans, a neutral jacket, comfortable shoes. Nothing that screamed billionaire's wife. She checked her phone once, then slipped it into her bag.
One hour, she reminded herself.
The driver Adrian had insisted on waited by the gate. Lily paused, then shook her head.
"I'll walk," she said.
He hesitated. "Mrs. Blackwood, I was instructed—"
"I'll be back before the hour," she said gently. "I promise."
After a moment, he nodded and stepped aside.
The city felt different without the constant sense of being watched. Lily walked aimlessly at first, letting the noise and movement ground her. Street vendors. Coffee shops. Ordinary people living ordinary lives.
This was what she'd missed.
Eventually, she found herself standing across the street from a familiar café. The sign was slightly faded, the windows fogged from years of steam and use.
Her chest tightened.
This was where she'd worked through college. Where she'd memorized orders, scraped by on tips, and dreamed of a future that hadn't included mansions or contracts.
She crossed the street and pushed open the door.
A bell chimed.
The smell of coffee wrapped around her instantly.
"Lily?"
She turned.
A woman behind the counter stared at her in disbelief before breaking into a wide smile. "Oh my god—it is you!"
"Mara," Lily breathed, laughing. "You're still here."
"Someone has to keep this place alive," Mara said, coming around the counter to hug her. "You disappeared."
"Life happened," Lily replied softly.
They talked over coffee—real coffee, not curated blends with names Lily couldn't pronounce. Mara told her about the café, the neighborhood, the people who'd come and gone.
No one asked her about Adrian.
No one stared.
For a moment, Lily felt like herself again.
Her phone vibrated.
She glanced at the time.
Fifty-three minutes.
She stood. "I should go."
"Come back," Mara said. "Whenever."
"I will," Lily promised.
She stepped outside—and froze.
Adrian stood across the street.
No suit. No entourage. Just him, hands in his coat pockets, expression tight with restrained emotion.
Their eyes met.
Her first instinct was anger.
Her second was something dangerously close to relief.
"You followed me," Lily said as she approached.
"No," Adrian replied. "I waited."
"That's not better."
"I know."
She crossed her arms. "You broke your own rule."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He studied her face like he was memorizing it. "Because one hour passed."
Her heart stuttered. "I had seven minutes left."
"You didn't answer your phone."
She blinked. "You said I didn't need to check in."
"I said I preferred it," he corrected. "I underestimated how much that mattered."
She shook her head. "You don't trust me."
"I trust you," Adrian said quietly. "I don't trust the world."
"That's still not my problem."
"No," he agreed. "It's mine."
They stood there, the city flowing around them, two people caught between power and vulnerability.
"I needed this," Lily said. "To remember who I was."
"And?" Adrian asked.
She met his gaze. "I'm still her."
Something in his expression eased.
"I won't stop you again," he said. "Not like that."
She searched his face for calculation.
Found none.
"You scared me," Lily admitted. "Showing up like that."
"I scared myself," he replied.
Silence stretched.
Then Lily sighed. "You could've come in."
"I didn't want to intrude."
That surprised her.
"You don't usually worry about that."
"No," Adrian said. "But this wasn't my world."
She studied him. "And what if I want a foot in both?"
His voice was steady, but his eyes weren't. "Then I learn where to stand."
They walked back together.
Not touching.
Not distant.
Just… aligned.
As they reached the gate, Lily glanced at him. "You didn't bring security."
"I didn't," he said. "That was your line."
Her lips curved slightly.
Inside the house, they parted without ceremony. But something had shifted—subtle, fragile, real.
That night, Lily fell asleep knowing two things for certain:
She hadn't lost herself.
And Adrian Blackwood, for all his control, was learning how to let go—one hour at a time.