The drive home wasn't long, but it felt longer than usual. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable — not exactly — just heavy. The kind that fills every space words should've been.

My hands stayed steady on the wheel, but my thoughts didn't. Every turn, every streetlight we passed made me think of what I'd say once we got home. How I'd finally bring it up — her father, that night, everything that's been hanging between us like smoke that refuses to clear.

I hated it. The silence. The distance. It didn't feel like... us.

When I finally pulled into the driveway, the lights from Val's Ferrari Purosangue reflected off the hood of my car, a perfect mirror of her: expensive, composed, and impossible to ignore. She'd swapped out the Aston months ago. Said she needed something "more practical." I didn't see how a Ferrari SUV counted as practical, but with her, it somehow made sense.

I killed the engine and got out, planning to open her door, she'd "sprained her ankle," after all, but before I got there, she was already stepping out, graceful as ever.

I stopped in front of her. My gaze drifted down instinctively to her legs. She was standing fine. Perfectly fine.

Her brow furrowed when she caught me staring. "You're… staring."

"I thought you sprained your ankle," I said slowly.

Her eyes widened a little, like she'd just remembered the story she'd told back at the Gala. "Oh— that." She winced, dramatically. Too dramatically.

"Val," I said, fighting a smile.

"It doesn't hurt anymore. See?" She turned her ankle a little, a clear demonstration of "look, I'm totally fine."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure it ever did?"

Her lips twitched, and for a second she tried to look offended. It didn't work. I could already see the smile sneaking in.

She gave up and giggled softly, the sound low but real. "Maybe I exaggerated a little."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "A little?"

She shrugged, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I don't know, maybe I just like a little attention sometimes."

That got me, not just the words, but the way she said them. Playful, soft, teasing. The kind of tone I hadn't heard in what felt like forever.

We both laughed, just a little longer than we should have. For a second, it almost felt like before, like nothing had changed. Then, slowly, the sound began to fade. Our eyes met, the space between us suddenly quiet again, heavier somehow.

And when it did, the silence came back, quieter this time, but still there.

We both exhaled at the same time. I nodded toward the door. "Let's go inside."

She nodded too, and we walked in together.

---

Aline was waiting by the hallway, Duchess cradled in her arms like a spoiled child. The cat was purring loudly, a rare sound unless she was around Val or, lately, Aline.

"Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Tanaka," Aline said with a small smile. "How was the Gala?"

Val smiled politely. "It went well."

"Of course it did," Aline said. "Mrs. Tanaka always makes an impression."

Duchess meowed in agreement.

I smirked. "And apparently, so does Duchess."

Aline chuckled, stroking the cat's fur. "She was waiting by the door earlier. I think she knew you two were coming home."

Val's expression softened, her eyes briefly falling to the cat. "You've spoiled her."

"Maybe," Aline said. "But she's easier to spoil than most people."

That earned a quiet laugh from both of us.

After a few more words, Aline excused herself, saying she'd set the table for dinner.

Upstairs, the air felt different, quieter. Familiar, but distant in that way things feel when you realize how long it's been since they felt right.

We'd shared this room for years. Now it felt like neutral ground.

I took my shower first. She said she had a quick report to finish.

The water was warm, but my thoughts weren't. There was a time she'd have walked right in, pretending she "forgot something," and I'd pretend to be annoyed, even though I wasn't. We'd end up laughing, maybe arguing about nothing, and she'd somehow convince me to share the space.

I'd always found a way to say no — back then, at least.

Now, I'd kill to hear that knock again. To have her barge in, hair tied up, still talking about something she saw online or a project she was excited about. It would've meant we were okay.

But we weren't. Not yet.

When I stepped out, she was still working. By the time she was done and took her shower, I was sitting on the bed, half-distracted, scrolling through my phone just to keep my hands busy.

Then the bathroom door opened.

She walked out in casual clothes, soft cream shorts and an oversized shirt. Her hair was damp, clinging slightly to her shoulders as she towel-dried it. The scent of her shampoo — that faint jasmine scent — filled the room.

For a second, I forgot to look away.

She wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, just drying her hair, but something about it, the way she moved, the quiet grace, it hit me harder than it should've.

Her eyes met mine mid-motion.

She paused. I didn't.

It was one of those moments that said a lot without anyone actually saying anything.

Her gaze flicked down briefly, then back to my face. She hesitated, then said, "Let's go eat before it gets any later."

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice steady. "Yeah. Let's go... eat."

We walked out together, down the stairs.

I could see her reflection in the glass railing, calm, unreadable, but softer than she'd been all evening.

As we reached the dining room, I told myself I wasn't waiting any longer.

After dinner, I'd bring it up. Everything. Her father, that night, the argument that followed.

Whatever happens after that… at least it wouldn't be silence anymore.

---

Dinner was quiet.

The soft clinking of silverware filled the space, mixing with the faint hum of the city lights filtering through the dining room window. Val sat across from me, hair tied loosely, a few damp strands still clinging to her neck from her shower. She cut into her steak with slow, steady movements, eyes focused on her plate instead of me.

We'd been eating like that for a while, just the sound of cutlery and the occasional sigh between bites.

I chewed another forkful of pasta, swallowed, and decided that maybe… starting light would help. Maybe if I got her talking, I could ease into what I really wanted to say later.

So I cleared my throat and leaned back slightly. "You still haven't told me," I said.

She looked up from her plate, brows raised. "Told you what?"

"Why you faked that ankle sprain."

Her lips twitched, caught between guilt and amusement.

I tilted my head. "You fooled half the room tonight. Including me. I was this close to calling a doctor."

She set her fork down and smiled, that same smile that could make a bad day good again.

> "You're exaggerating. I didn't fake it that well."

"You did," I said, pointing at her. "You winced like an Oscar nominee."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Fine. Maybe I did."

I raised a brow. "Why?"

Her gaze dropped for a moment. She toyed with the edge of her napkin before sighing.

"Avery," she said simply.

I blinked. "What about her?"

"She said some things," Val replied, her tone light but the weight behind it obvious. "Before you arrived."

My chest tightened slightly. "Things?"

She hesitated, just for a beat, then shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "You know how she is. Always looking for proof she's winning. I just… gave her a little reminder that she's not."

I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I didn't ask. I just wanted to keep her talking, to hear her laugh a little more. So I leaned back, feigning a casual tone.

"So, pretending to sprain your ankle was the logical solution?"

Her lips curved again, this time in that playful way only she could pull off. "Of course. Nothing says 'I'm perfectly fine' like being dramatically helpless in front of an audience."

I huffed out a laugh. "You're unbelievable."

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "That's what you signed up for, Mr. Tanaka."

"Apparently."

She grinned, taking a sip of her red wine, and for a few seconds, it felt normal again — easy, familiar.

Then she went quiet. Her eyes lingered on the glass before she set it down. "I thought you weren't coming," she said softly.

The words hit heavier than I expected.

I swallowed, trying to keep my tone gentle. "Val, I—"

"I know," she cut in quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You already apologized. I just… tonight, it felt weird, you know? Not hearing from you. Not knowing if you'd show up."

I nodded slowly. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"I know," she said again, quieter this time.

Silence fell over the table once more, but this one felt different, less heavy, more like both of us were just thinking about what to say next and neither of us wanting to ruin the calm that had barely settled.

I toyed with the pasta for a moment before finally taking another bite. She followed a second later. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

After a while, she sighed and pushed her plate away. "You know," she said with a faint smirk, "for someone who claims he doesn't like Galas, you looked pretty good in that suit."

I chuckled. "Trying to change the subject?"

"Maybe," she said, eyes glinting playfully. "Is it working?"

"Almost," I said, and she giggled again — a soft, melodic sound that always somehow managed to pull me out of my head.

We finished the rest of dinner in that fragile kind of peace, the kind that felt like walking on a bridge made of glass. We were okay, for now, but one wrong step and it could all come crashing down again.

When the plates were cleared and the quiet returned, I stood up and stretched. She followed not long after, gathering her phone before heading upstairs. I trailed behind her a few minutes later.

Back in the room, the light was softer. She sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone. I sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair, trying to form the words that had been stuck in my chest since last week.

I hated this silence between us. The unspoken distance. The fact that we could laugh one second and still feel miles apart the next.

I exhaled and turned toward her.

"Val," I said quietly.

She didn't look up right away. "Hm?"

I hesitated. For a second, I almost backed out, but then I saw the way her thumb froze above the screen, the way her shoulders tensed slightly. She already knew.

I swallowed hard. "Can we talk?"

Her eyes lifted from the phone. She looked at me for a moment, and even though she didn't say a word, I could see it — the understanding, the apprehension, the readiness.

After a heartbeat, she nodded softly.

And just like that, everything I'd been avoiding finally caught up with me.

---

To be continued...

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