Emry
Emry tried to focus.On emails. On numbers. On anything that wasn't the memory of Ocean laughing softly across the table weeks ago—unaware she'd shifted something permanent inside him.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Amaiyla was the one bound by strategy and obligation. Ocean was meant to remain untouched by it all. Safe. Uncomplicated.
Yet here he stood at his office window, phone in hand, thumb hovering over her name.
You don't get to want her, he reminded himself. Not with her last name.
Still, he dialed.
She answered on the second ring. "Emry?"
Just hearing her voice loosened something in his chest.
"Hi," he said, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I was wondering if… you might be free for coffee today."
A pause. Not refusal—consideration.
"Coffee," she repeated carefully. "Just coffee?"
"Yes," he said at once. Then, softer—truer—"Just us."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Alright," Ocean said finally. "There's a place near Hyde Park. One hour."
"I'll take it," he replied, already smiling.
Ocean
She arrived early.That alone should have warned her.
Ocean Hollingsworth never arrived early unless she was nervous—and she was. Not because of Emry, but because of what wanting him might cost.
Her father's voice lived permanently at the back of her mind.
Nothing is free. Everything is leverage.
When Emry walked in—jacket slung over his arm, expression cautious yet warm—something in her chest loosened… and tightened all at once.
"You look distracted," he said as he took the seat across from her.
She smiled faintly. "That obvious?"
"To me," he replied. "Yes."
They ordered. Talked about nothing first—the weather, travel, a ridiculous article he'd read. It was easy. Too easy.
Then he stopped smiling.
"Ocean," Emry said quietly, fingers tightening around his cup, "I didn't ask you here for small talk."
Her pulse jumped. "I figured."
"I know who your father is," he continued. "I know what he does when emotions become… assets."
Her jaw set.
"And that scares you," she said.
"It terrifies me," he admitted. "Because I don't want to be another man who walks into your life with conditions."
She studied his face—looking for strategy, for calculation. Found none.
"Then why ask me here?" she asked.
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Because pretending I don't feel this is becoming dishonest."
Silence bloomed between them—fragile. Dangerous.
"I like you," Emry said simply. "Not strategically. Not carefully. And that's exactly why I hesitated."
Ocean swallowed. "You think my father would turn you into a contract."
"I think he'd try," Emry said. "And I think you're afraid he'd succeed."
Her breath caught.
"That's exactly what happened to Amaiyla," she whispered.
Emry nodded once. "And I won't be part of that."
For the first time, Ocean reached across the table.
Not to negotiate. Not to secure anything.
Just to touch his hand.
"Then don't be," she said quietly.
...
Ocean walked instead of calling a car.
The city moved around her—cars passing, voices overlapping, life continuing as if something hadn't just tilted off its axis. Her reflection stared back at her from darkened shop windows: composed posture, steady pace, no visible fracture.
Inside, everything felt exposed.
She replayed the moment she'd reached across the table. The simplicity of it. The recklessness. Touching him without permission from anyone else—not her father, not the expectations stitched into her last name.
Then don't be.
She'd meant it. And that terrified her.
Emry hadn't promised anything. No future. No protection. No careful distance disguised as virtue. He'd only offered honesty—and in her world, that was the rarest currency of all.
Her phone vibrated.
She didn't need to look to know who it was. The absence of a message from her father felt louder than any demand. Silence meant observation. Calculation. The sense that something had shifted and he was waiting to see which way it would fall.
Ocean slowed, breath shallow.
Amaiyla had believed love could soften the terms. She'd thought affection might outweigh leverage.
Ocean knew better.
And yet—
She pressed her fingers together, remembering the warmth of Emry's hand. The way he hadn't tightened his grip. Hadn't tried to claim or reassure. Just stayed.
He hadn't asked her to choose him.
He'd asked her not to turn him into a transaction.
That was worse.
Because wanting him meant choosing herself—and that was the one move her father had never taught her how to survive.
Ocean stopped at the corner, the light flashing red, and finally allowed herself one honest thought:
This will cost me.
The light changed.
She crossed anyway.
Amaiyla — On the Road to Paris
The car's engine settled into a steady hum as the outskirts of Paris began to blur past the window. Amaiyla rested her forehead briefly against the cool glass, counting breaths—something she'd picked up recently, like it might keep her from unraveling completely.
Her phone lit up.
Ocean.
Relief came fast and sharp, almost painful.
"Ocean," Amaiyla said the moment she answered. "Tell me everything."
A soft laugh crackled through the speaker. Nervous. Barely contained. "I'm on my way to meet Emry for coffee," Ocean said, then added, "and I think I might throw up."
Amaiyla smiled despite herself. "That's usually how you know it matters."
A pause. Not playful this time.
"Amaiyla," Ocean said quietly, "he's… good. Like—actually good. And that scares me."
Amaiyla's grip tightened on her phone.
"Because of Dad?"
"Yes." Ocean didn't hesitate. "Because I don't want him turned into a move. I don't want to watch someone I care about become leverage."
Amaiyla closed her eyes.
"Ocean," she said gently, choosing each word, "if there's one thing I've learned the hard way—it's that love doesn't survive when it's treated like a liability." She swallowed. "Don't punish him for what Father might do. That's how he wins without even showing up."
Ocean exhaled, the sound thin and unsteady. "You sound brave."
"I'm not," Amaiyla said honestly. "I'm just tired of being afraid." A beat. "And I'm learning. Slowly."
"And Naiya?" Ocean asked after a moment. "How is she?"
Amaiyla glanced back out the window. The city was closer now. Real. Unavoidable. "Still pretending she doesn't love Aras."
A short silence.
"She does," Ocean said. "I can hear it in her voice."
"So can I," Amaiyla murmured.
A car door shut on Ocean's end.
"I have to go," Ocean said.
"Text me," Amaiyla said quickly. "Please."
"I will," Ocean promised.
The line went dead.
Amaiyla lowered the phone and stared at her reflection in the glass—older than she felt, steadier than she used to be.
She wondered, not for the first time, which of them would pay the highest price for choosing love anyway.
Naiya — The Collision
The run was supposed to clear her head.It never did.
Naiya cut around the corner too fast, lungs burning, focus narrowed to the rhythm of her feet—and slammed straight into a solid chest.
She stumbled back with a sharp breath.
Aras steadied her by the wrist before she could retreat.
"You're avoiding me," he said.
She jerked her hand free. "You're following me."
"I needed to see you." No apology. No softness. "You don't answer my calls."
"Because answering you hurts," Naiya shot back. Her pulse thundered louder than the traffic.
He took a step closer. Close enough that she could smell sweat and cold air on him. "So does pretending this isn't real."
A humorless laugh escaped her. "You belong to your father. And I don't get to choose something that isn't free."
Something hardened in his expression.
"I'm trying to break away," Aras said.
"Trying isn't enough," she replied, the words breaking despite her. "Amaiyla is paying the price for trying."
Silence settled between them—tight, dangerous.
Then Aras spoke, low and certain. "I would burn the entire system down for you."
Her breath caught.
"That's the problem," Naiya whispered. "So would I."
The realization hit harder than the collision.
There was nowhere left to run.
...
Across cities and strategies, something shifted.
Emry chose honesty. Ocean chose risk. Naiya chose truth. Amaiyla chose awareness.
And the men who believed love could be leveraged?
They were about to learn—you can't negotiate with a woman who's already decided what she'll sacrifice.