The soft chime of my alarm pulled me from sleep, and for a moment, I didn’t remember where I was. The ceiling above me wasn’t the one I had grown used to, and the faint scent of expensive linen filled the air instead of the usual comforting familiarity of home. Then it clicked—Claire’s penthouse.
I exhaled, stretching slightly before sitting up. The city outside was already awake, the distant hum of traffic seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Morning light spilled into the room in muted shades, casting long shadows across the minimalist space.
Mondays always carried a certain weight, but this one felt heavier. Maybe because it was my first real workday since moving in. Maybe because my encounter with Leo still lingered in my thoughts.
Shaking it off, I went through my routine—a quick shower, brushing my teeth, pulling on a simple yet polished outfit. As I stepped out of my room, the scent of coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faintest trace of Claire’s perfume.
She was already at the dining table, elegantly poised as she scrolled through her phone. A steaming cup of black coffee rested beside her plate, untouched.
“You’re up early,” she remarked without looking up.
“I have work,” I replied, walking past her toward the kitchen.
She hummed in acknowledgment, then finally lifted her gaze. “Did you go somewhere yesterday?”
I paused for a second before grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “Just to the park.”
Her expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in her eyes. “Alone?”
“Not the whole time,” I admitted. “I ran into Mr. Leo.”
That got her attention. She set her phone down, fingers interlacing as she studied me. “What did he say?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much. Just talked.”
Claire’s gaze lingered on me, as if she were trying to read between the lines. Then, after a beat, she leaned back in her chair. “Be careful with him.”
I frowned. “Why?”
She picked up her coffee, taking a slow sip before answering. “Because he’s someone who knows exactly how to pull people in without them even realizing it.”
Something about the way she said it sent a chill down my spine.
Before I could respond, she stood up, smoothing down her blouse. “We should get going. I have meetings lined up, and you’re coming with me.”
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The ride to the office was quiet. Claire was focused on her phone, answering emails or reviewing something important, while I stared out the window, watching the city blur past.
Summit River Corp’s headquarters loomed ahead—a sleek glass building that reflected the morning sunlight. As soon as we stepped inside, the usual controlled chaos of the office greeted us. Employees moved with purpose, some engaged in hushed conversations, others typing away at their desks.
Evelyn was already waiting near the elevator when we arrived, tablet in hand. “Good morning, Mrs. Claire. Your first meeting starts in fifteen minutes, and Mr. Langford wants a quick word before that.”
Claire nodded without breaking stride. “Reschedule Langford to lunch. I don’t have time for a ‘quick word’ that turns into a forty-minute discussion.”
Evelyn tapped a note into her tablet. “Understood.”
I followed behind them, feeling slightly out of place. Unlike Evelyn, whose role was deeply intertwined with the corporate world, my responsibilities felt... light. Too light. I handled Claire’s meals, accompanied her to places, but when it came to work, I had little to do.
The meeting with Vanguard Dynamics—one of the leading international branding firms—was the most engaging part of my morning. Their team presented a proposal to collaborate with Summit River Corp on a new digital identity overhaul. The goal was to modernize the company’s online presence, enhance its user experience, and establish a stronger global brand image.
I sat quietly beside Claire, taking notes as the discussion unfolded.
“The current interface feels outdated,” one of the Vanguard representatives, a sharply dressed woman named Monica Alvarez, pointed out. “Users expect seamless navigation, and frankly, Summit River’s platform isn’t delivering that. We propose a complete redesign—intuitive UI, modern visuals, and integrated AI support.”
Leo, who was leading this discussion on behalf of Summit River, leaned back in his chair. “That sounds ambitious. We’ll need a timeline projection.”
Monica’s colleague, Daniel Park, slid a printed document across the table. “We’ve mapped out a six-month rollout plan, beginning with user research and wireframes, followed by development and testing.”
Claire skimmed through the pages and set them down. “I appreciate the structured approach, but I’m not sold yet. Your firm has a solid reputation, but I want to see something tangible. A proof of concept. A rough demo of how you’d reimagine Summit River’s interface.”
Monica nodded without missing a beat. “We anticipated that. Give us two weeks.”
Claire’s expression didn’t shift. “One.”
A beat of silence. Daniel glanced at Monica, then exhaled. “We’ll make it happen.”
I noted the exchange, feeling slightly in awe of how Claire handled negotiations. She wasn’t just sharp—she was demanding, unwilling to settle for anything less than what she wanted.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, I had a page full of notes. Most of it was corporate talk—projections, proposals, deadlines—but it felt nice to actually contribute something, even if it was just jotting things down.
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After lunch, Claire surprised me. “We’re going out,” she said as she set her phone down.
I blinked. “Where?”
“Shopping.”
I tilted my head. “Shopping for what?”
She gave me a look that said, Must you question everything? “Just come.”
Before I knew it, we were in one of the city’s high-end fashion districts. Claire walked with her usual composed elegance, while I… well, I got distracted easily. Everything was fascinating—displays of designer bags, racks of dresses I couldn’t afford, shelves lined with heels so expensive I didn’t dare touch them.
At one point, I wandered a little too far, pausing by a display of silver jewellery. When I turned back, Claire was watching me with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
“You’re worse than a child,” she muttered, reaching for my hand.
I froze as her fingers curled around mine, effortlessly pulling me back to her side.
“I—”
“Stay close,” she said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My heart did something weird. A little skip, a small stumble. But I didn’t say anything. I just let her hold my hand as we continued browsing.
The boutique Claire led me into was refined, the kind of place where the air smelled like expensive perfume and the staff greeted you with warm but measured smiles.
A sales associate, a woman dressed in sleek black with a name tag reading Sophia, approached us with a polite nod. “Mrs. Claire, it’s a pleasure to see you again. How can I assist you today?”
Claire glanced at me before answering, “We’re just looking for now.”
“Of course,” Sophia said, stepping back to let us browse at our own pace.
Claire moved with quiet certainty, picking up an item here and there but never lingering for too long. Meanwhile, I… well, I kept getting distracted. A row of structured blazers caught my attention first—sleek, tailored, way out of my budget. Then, there were the handbags.
I ran my fingers over a smooth leather strap, admiring the craftsmanship. I wasn’t one to obsess over designer labels, but there was something undeniably appealing about the quality.
“You like that one?”
I nearly jumped. Claire was standing beside me, watching with an unreadable expression.
“Oh, um. Just looking.” I cleared my throat, stepping away. “I don’t think I’d ever spend that much on a bag.”
Claire hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Not everything is about the price. Sometimes, it’s about what makes you feel good.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just followed as she moved toward the clothing section.
Then, because I apparently had the attention span of a goldfish, I got distracted again. This time by a mannequin wearing a stunning navy-blue dress. The material draped elegantly, the kind of outfit that made a statement without trying too hard.
“You’re all over the place today.” Claire’s voice held a trace of amusement.
I turned to her sheepishly. “There’s just a lot to look at.”
She sighed, then—before I could react—she reached for my hand again.
“Okay, that’s the second time today you’ve done that,” I pointed out, glancing down at our linked fingers.
Claire didn’t even blink. “It’s easier than chasing after you.”
I huffed. “I’m not running away.”
She arched a brow. “No? Because it feels like I’m shopping with a toddler who keeps wandering off.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, but she just kept walking, pulling me along effortlessly. I let out a defeated sigh and allowed it.
A sales assistant approached us with a polite smile. “Would you like to try anything on?”
I opened my mouth to decline, but Claire spoke first. “She’ll try the dress.”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
Claire gave me a look that brokered no argument. “You’ve been staring at it long enough.”
I hesitated, but the expectant expression on both Claire’s and the sales assistant’s faces left me with little choice. Reluctantly, I took the dress and headed to the fitting room.
The moment I slipped the dress on, I understood why Claire had insisted. It fit like it was made for me, the fabric hugging my figure in all the right ways without feeling restrictive.
I stepped out of the fitting room, tugging at the hem self-consciously. Claire was seated on a nearby lounge chair, skimming something on her phone. When she looked up, her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary.
“…Well?” I asked, suddenly feeling exposed under her scrutiny.
Her lips curved slightly. “It suits you.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Good, because I’m not buying it.”
Claire didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she glanced toward Sophia, who had been watching from a respectful distance. “Wrap it up.”
I stared at her. “Wait, no, Claire—”
She shot me a pointed look. “You need something appropriate for events. Consider it part of your role.”
“That’s—” I struggled for a reason to refuse. “That’s not part of my job description.”
“It is now.” She handed her card to Sophia, effectively ending the conversation.
I groaned but didn’t argue further. There was no point. Claire did what she wanted, and I was just along for the ride.
Still, as we left the boutique, my new dress in hand, I found myself smiling—just a little.
As we stepped out of the boutique, I let out a small sigh and glanced down at our linked hands. It had been like this the entire time—her holding on to me, guiding me through the store as if I’d wander off if she let go.
“You know,” I started, my voice casual but laced with curiosity, “my mom doesn’t even hold my hand like this.” I glanced at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. “But you keep holding it, like I’m a flight risk or something. We’re done shopping now… I think you can let go.”
Claire didn’t say anything. She didn’t even acknowledge my words—just kept walking, her grip firm yet effortless, as if letting go hadn’t even crossed her mind.
By the time we got into the car, I had given up trying to figure it out. I settled into my seat, expecting the usual silence, but as the driver pulled away from the curb, Claire finally spoke.
“I like it.”
I turned to her, caught off guard. “What?”
She still wasn’t looking at me, her gaze fixed on something outside the window. But there was no hesitation in her voice.
“Holding your hand,” she said simply.
I stared at her, my brain stuttering over what to say. That was… not what I expected.
A part of me wanted to ask why, to pry and understand what she meant. But another part—one that I didn’t fully recognize—felt warm at the admission.
So instead of pushing, I just exhaled, looking away as I muttered, “Weirdo.”
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By the time we reached the penthouse, I was already exhausted from the day. The moment we stepped inside, Claire turned to me with her usual cool authority.
“Take a shower,” she instructed.
I blinked at her. “That’s… sudden.”
“You’ve been out all day. You’ll sleep better.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to freshen up.
As the warm water cascaded down my back, the tension from the day slowly melted away. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Claire’s tendency to take control of everything, but there was something oddly comforting about it. She didn’t hover, didn’t ask—just decided things for me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Halfway through shampooing my hair, a delicious aroma drifted into the bathroom. My stomach immediately perked up in interest. I frowned, rinsing quickly. Who was cooking? Evelyn wasn’t here, and I doubted Claire would let a chef come this late.
By the time I stepped out, towel-drying my hair, the smell had only grown stronger. Steak? I pulled on my pyjamas, curiosity getting the better of me, and followed the scent to the kitchen.
There, standing at the stove with an ease I hadn’t expected, was Claire.
She was plating a perfectly seared steak, her movements precise but relaxed. The dining table was already set, a bottle of Château Margaux resting beside a glass filled with dark red wine. It was an expensive vintage—one I’d only heard about in passing but knew was far beyond anything I’d ever buy.
Claire glanced up as she heard my footsteps. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing toward the chair across from her.
I hesitated for a second before obeying, watching as she placed the steak in front of me. She had even prepared a side of roasted vegetables and what looked like a creamy mashed potato.
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
She smirked faintly, taking a sip from her glass. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I picked up my fork and knife, cutting into the steak. The first bite melted in my mouth, rich and perfectly seasoned. “Okay… I’ll admit. This is amazing.”
Claire took her seat, her wine glass never far from her fingertips. “Good.”
We ate in silence for a while, the only sounds filling the room were the soft clinks of silverware against our plates. Yet, something about tonight felt different. The usual cool, composed aura that Claire carried seemed to have loosened. Her posture wasn’t as rigid, her shoulders lacked their usual tension, and when she looked at me, her gaze held a softness I wasn’t used to seeing.
I idly pushed my vegetables around my plate while Claire swirled the wine in her glass, watching the deep red liquid as it coated the sides in slow, lazy movements.
“What do you think about love?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.
I blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… a loaded question.”
She tilted her head slightly, waiting.
I hesitated, searching for the right words. “I guess… love is complicated. It can be beautiful, but it can also be painful. Still, I think, at its core, love is supposed to make you feel like you belong. Like you’re not alone.”
Claire hummed softly, bringing the glass to her lips and taking another sip. Her glass was nearly empty again, and a quick glance at the bottle made my stomach twist—she had already gone through half of it.
Meanwhile, I had barely taken a sip. Alcohol wasn’t really my thing, and the bitter warmth of the wine only reinforced why.
She exhaled, staring at the rim of her glass. “When I was younger, I wanted to fall in love.”
Her voice was quiet now, almost distant. I remained silent, sensing that she wasn’t done.
“But my family had expectations,” she continued, rolling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “They had plans, rules… And my sister—” She paused, her throat working as she swallowed hard. “She didn’t survive it.”
My grip on my fork tightened. “Claire…”
“She was brilliant. Kind. But they crushed her with their expectations until she couldn’t breathe anymore.” A humourless laugh escaped her, but the weight behind it was suffocating. “I buried my own feelings after that. Locked them away until I forgot how to feel anything at all.”
I had no idea what to say. What could I possibly say?
Then she looked at me. And for the first time since I had met her, I saw something raw, something vulnerable in her expression.
“Until I met you.”
I inhaled sharply.
A faint, almost self-deprecating smile ghosted across her lips. “You make my heart beat again,” she admitted. “Like there’s a spark.”
A tightness settled in my chest. The weight of her words hung between us, heavy and unshakable.
I stared down at my plate, gripping my fork as if it could ground me. Claire—poised, untouchable Claire—had just admitted something I wasn’t even sure she fully understood herself.
The wine kept flowing. At some point, I found myself drinking more than I intended, the warmth creeping into my veins, making the world feel slow, weightless.
Claire had gone through more than half the bottle by now. The carefully constructed walls she always kept up were slipping, unravelling into something softer, something unmistakably human.
We had abandoned our plates, our conversation morphing into ridiculous tangents.
“You know,” Claire slurred slightly, swirling the last remnants of wine in her glass, “when I was younger, I thought I’d run away. Just—poof—disappear somewhere no one could find me.”
I snorted, leaning back in my chair. “You? Running away? I can’t even picture it.”
She huffed, smirking. “I had plans. Big ones. Thought I’d go to a small town, open a flower shop or something equally absurd.”
I laughed, too loud, too unrestrained. “A flower shop? Claire, you’d scare the customers away.”
Her lips twitched. “You’re probably right.”
Laughter lingered between us, light and fleeting, as if we had momentarily forgotten the weight of the night. The room felt warmer, dimmer. My limbs were heavy, my thoughts sluggish.
Claire set her empty glass down with a soft clink, her gaze settling on me. Something shifted in her expression—deepened.
“Mae.”
I blinked at her, tilting my head slightly. “Yes?”
She leaned forward, her hand reaching out, fingertips brushing my arm.
“You make me feel something,” she murmured. “And I don’t—” She exhaled shakily. “I don’t want to lose that.”
My pulse stuttered.
“Claire…”
She didn’t let me finish. She shifted closer, closing the space between us. Her hands—usually so steady, so sure—trailed up my arm, to my shoulder, then toward my neck.
I flinched. “Claire, stop.”
She froze, her brows knitting together. “Why?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“So are you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. I did get drunk easily, even from just a sip.
I shook my head. “That’s not the point.”
Her fingers hovered over my skin, tentative, searching. “Then what is it?”
I reached up, gently but firmly pulling her hands away. “This isn’t you.”
Something flickered across her face—hurt, raw and unguarded. “How would you know?”
I swallowed, my breath catching.
She let out a humourless laugh, her eyes glassy. “You think I don’t want this?”
“Not like this.”
Claire clenched her jaw, but her hands tightened around my wrists as if letting go would shatter her completely.
“Mae,” she whispered. “Please.”
My heart ached.
She was trembling. Claire—the woman who never faltered, never lost control—was unravelling right in front of me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. “Claire, listen to me. You’re not thinking straight.”
Her grip tightened. “I just—I need to feel something again.” Her voice cracked. “Anything.”
The desperation in her words hit me like a punch to the chest.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, unrestrained and unhidden. “Why?”
I shook my head, throat tight. “Because this isn’t the kind of feeling you’re looking for.”
A broken, bitter laugh escaped her. “Then tell me, Mae. What am I looking for?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Her shoulders sagged, defeat settling into her posture. She buried her face in her hands, her breath hitching. “God, I hate this. I hate feeling like this.”
I hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, placing my hand over hers. She stilled under my touch.
“I know,” I murmured.
She looked up at me, red-rimmed eyes searching, pleading. “Then stay.”
I exhaled softly. “I’m not leaving.”