Prudence POV
The moment the hotel suite door clicked shut behind me, the world shifted.
I leaned back against the solid wood, the cool surface a stark contrast to the wildfire spreading under my skin. A sound bubbled up in my throat, a disbelieving, breathless giggle. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle it, my eyes wide in the dim entryway.
What was happening to me?
My heart was a frantic, joyous drum against my ribs, a rhythm I hadn't felt since… since forever. Since before Liam. Since I was a girl who believed in silly, wonderful things. The entire walk back from the ramen shop was a blur of neon and warmth, anchored only by the solid, sure feel of his hand in mine. His hand in mine.
The simplicity of it was what undid me. There was no transaction. No power play. No calculating the next move. It was just… two people. Walking. Holding hands. Talking about boats and bad jet lag.
And the apology. God, the apology. It had felt like tearing out a piece of my own ribcage to offer it, but the moment the words left my lips "I am sorry, Justin". A lifetime of defensive armor had simply… dissolved. The weight I'd been carrying since the gala, since the street corner, since I was seventeen and standing in a dark garden in a second-hand dress, just… vanished. He hadn't just accepted it; he'd mirrored it with his own failure of courage. We weren't a queen and a titan in that steamy little restaurant. We were two people who had hurt each other, and were choosing, clumsily, to stop.
A single, hot tear tracked down my cheek. I hadn't even felt it coming. I never cried. Not from happiness. Not from relief. Yet there it was. I touched my fingertips to the dampness, staring at them in wonder.
Then, a surge of pure, unadulterated energy shot through me. It was too big for my body to contain. I pushed off from the door, kicked off my heels, and did something I hadn't done in twenty years.
I ran the three steps to the massive, plush hotel bed and launched myself onto it, landing with a soft jump on my back. I stared at the ceiling for a second, and then a laugh a real, full-throated, unguarded laugh burst out of me. I brought my hands to my face, my shoulders shaking.
This was absurd. I was Prudence Smith, CEO of a global empire, a woman who commanded boardrooms and headlines. And I was lying on a hotel bed in Tokyo, giggling like a teenager who'd just been kissed after homecoming.
But I hadn't been kissed. Not on the lips. The ghost of his cheek, smooth and warm under my lips, tingled. The press of my hand against the solid wall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart under my palm… that had been more intimate than any kiss I'd ever experienced. It was a claiming and an offering. I felt like we had a connection.
I sat up, my body buzzing. I couldn't sit still. I swung my legs up and started kicking them gently against the mattress, a silly, rhythmic thumping. A giddy, weightless feeling filled my chest, like I was floating. Or falling. But for the first time, the fall didn't feel terrifying. It felt like flying.
One day at a time.He'd said it. A plan with no five-year projections, no risk assessments. Just a day. And today had been… perfect.
I thought of the way he'd looked at me while I was eating ramen, his stormy eyes soft in the low light, focused entirely on my face as I spoke. Not on my title, not on my strategic value. On me. Prudence. All of it.
I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in the cool duvet, a fresh wave of giggles shaking me. This was insane. This was wonderful. This was terrifying.
The fear was still there, a cold little serpent coiled at the base of my spine. It whispered of betrayal, of overconfidence, of the inevitable moment when the other shoe would drop. But for tonight, the warmth, the giddiness, the sheer relief of being truly seen and not found wanting, drowned it out.
I had spent my adult life building a persona of flawless, untouchable control. I had curated men who were safe because they were manageable, because their departures were irrelevant. I had built a beautiful, sterile life at the top of a glass tower.
And with a single safety card, a bowl of noodles, and an honest apology, Justin Steele had made that tower feel like a prison cell.
I flopped onto my back again, a wide, unstoppable smile stretching my face. I felt alive. Truly, vibrantly, messily alive. The tears, the giggles, the kicking feet it was all a glorious, human mess I had denied myself for decades.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, my heart giving another foolish leap. It wasn't him. It was Anya, with the final run-of-show for tomorrow.
The real world, with its demands and its spotlight, was still there. Tomorrow was the launch. The culmination of months of work. It was one of the most important days of my professional life.
But as I typed a quick confirmation to Anya, the dread I usually felt before a major event was absent. In its place was a bright, steady pulse of anticipation. Not just for the store opening, but for seeing him. For sharing that moment of triumph, not as adversaries or wary partners, but as… whatever we were becoming.
I put the phone down and hugged a pillow to my chest, the silly grin still plastered on my face. I was acting like an idiot. A happy, hopeful, teenage idiot.
And I didn't care. Not one bit.
For the first time in a very, very long time, the fortress was empty by choice. And the woman who walked out of it was standing on the edge of something new, her heart beating a wild, joyful rhythm, ready to step into the freefall.