I. Headlines and Heartbeats
Amelia woke to her phone vibrating violently on the nightstand.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Groggy, she rubbed her eyes and reached for it, squinting at the string of messages flooding in. The first was from Gracie. The next from her landlord. Another from a former classmate she hadn't spoken to in years.
Gracie: "AMELIA. YOU'RE IN THE NEWS???"
Landlord: "Miss Wren, if you're bringing paparazzi to the building, we need to talk."
Classmate: "Is it true? You and that Damian Vance?"
Heart racing, she tapped the first link. It was a tabloid headline.
"MYSTERY WOMAN IN MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS WITH TECH GIANT DAMIAN VANCE — WHO IS SHE?"
Below was the photo. Fuzzy, yes—but it was unmistakably her. Her face turned up to him, eyes soft. The world could see exactly how she looked at him.
Her stomach dropped.
In the blur of last night—his voice, his warmth, the way he'd kissed her like she was the only person on Earth—she hadn't thought about the price. She hadn't imagined that one kiss could drag her name into flashing headlines.
She was still staring at the screen when her apartment buzzer shrieked.
She jumped.
Then came the voice, garbled through the intercom: "Amelia Wren? We'd like a quick word—Channel 6."
She backed away like the button burned her.
Her phone buzzed again.
Damian: "Don't open the door. I'm coming."
II. The World Breaks In
Across the city, in the VanceTech tower, Damian Vance was no longer the composed figure of power he usually presented to the world.
His voice was low but fierce. "I want every trace of the article taken down. Threaten legal action. Pull advertising. I don't care what it costs."
Mara, his assistant, moved like lightning, typing commands and calling in favors from media contacts.
"But the story's viral," she said. "It's trending in seventeen cities."
"I don't care." Damian's hands were clenched. "They don't touch her."
Mara paused. "You really care about her, don't you?"
He looked up, the mask cracking.
"I do."
A beat.
"Then you better prepare for a war, sir," she said. "Because now, they know her name."
III. Hiding from the World
By the time Damian reached Amelia's apartment, she had packed a bag with shaking hands and pulled a hoodie over her head. She hadn't stopped crying, but the tears were silent—less from fear, more from disbelief.
She wasn't built for this. She wasn't built to be watched.
He found her standing in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red.
He said nothing. He just held out his hand.
She took it.
They drove through back alleys, past security gates, into a penthouse he rarely used. It was quiet. It smelled like cedar and clean air. She curled into his couch and stared out the window at the city that had somehow turned on her overnight.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have protected you."
Amelia turned to him. "Is this… always how it is for you?"
He nodded. "They take everything you love and twist it into something ugly."
She swallowed. "Then why love anything at all?"
He didn't answer.
Not right away.
Then he said, "Because some things are still worth the risk."
She looked away.
"I didn't ask for this, Damian. I didn't sign up for… flashbulbs and strangers knowing what I look like in the dark."
"I know. And if you want me to walk away right now—to end it—I'll do it."
Amelia turned her head. Their eyes locked. Her throat tightened.
"You'd let me go that easily?"
His voice broke. "Never easily. But I'd rather hurt alone than see you hurt with me."
That was when she broke.
Tears came, not from fear, but from the overwhelming truth of it all.
He wasn't offering her wealth or safety. He was offering his heart—raw and unguarded—for the first time in years.
And she knew… if she left now, she might never be able to return.
IV. A Gentle Escape
That night, they didn't touch much. He made her tea. She curled up beside him with a blanket, her head against his shoulder, their fingers intertwined. The world felt far away—just two people against the noise.
They talked for hours. About his mother, who died when he was sixteen. About her dreams of writing a novel, the one she had secretly been scribbling since college. About the fact that neither of them really knew how to love out loud.
"I don't know how to date," Damian admitted. "I don't know how to be with someone and not ruin it."
Amelia smiled softly. "Then let's be bad at it together."
They stayed like that until the city went quiet.
Until even the stars forgot to twinkle.
V. The Line in the Sand
The next morning, Amelia stood on the edge of the penthouse balcony, wrapped in one of Damian's shirts, watching the sunrise blur over steel and glass towers.
She felt different. Still afraid. Still overwhelmed. But underneath it, something else had taken root.
Resolve.
She turned as Damian approached, shirt unbuttoned, sleep still in his eyes.
"Hey," he said.
She smiled. "Hey."
"I booked a flight," he said carefully. "Paris. Tomorrow night. I have meetings for the next week. I was going to cancel."
She shook her head. "Don't."
"I don't want to leave you here alone."
"I won't be alone."
He frowned.
"I'm going back to work," she said. "To my café. My desk. My life. Let them stare. Let them talk."
His expression shifted—softened into something like awe.
"You don't have to prove anything," he said.
She stepped forward. "I'm not doing it to prove anything. I'm doing it because I refuse to lose myself… just because I found you."
They stood there for a moment, the wind between them.
And then he kissed her.
Not like before—not tentative or afraid.
But full, and strong, and certain.