Daniel Brooks had never asked to leave early.

Not when the elevators stalled and Victoria Hail had to take the stairs with a board member breathing down her neck. Not when the Singapore deal nearly collapsed at 11:58 p.m. on a Tuesday and the legal team started arguing like tired wolves. Not when the building lost power and the emergency lights made the 14th floor look like a submarine. Daniel stayed through it all, steady as a metronome, because that was what he was: the quiet mechanism that kept Hail Dynamics moving forward.

That afternoon, though, he glanced at his watch, rose from his chair, and said a sentence so out of character the entire executive wing seemed to forget how to inhale.

“I need to leave early,” Daniel said, voice calm, hands already gathering his tablet and the leather bag with the worn edges. “I have a date.”

For a second, the office didn’t react. It simply stopped, like someone had pressed pause on the floor itself. A printer hummed and then fell silent. A distant phone rang once, then died. Even the air conditioning felt like it hesitated.

Victoria Hail froze mid-reach for her cigarette case.

If anyone else on the 14th floor had announced they were leaving early for a date, someone would’ve laughed, teased, tossed a joke over a cubicle wall. But Daniel Brooks wasn’t “anyone.” He was the Phantom. He moved through Hail Dynamics like a well-programmed automation: efficient, invisible, essential. He spoke only when necessary. He anticipated needs before anyone voiced them. He didn’t gossip, didn’t flirt, didn’t linger in doorways hoping to be noticed.

And yet there it was, hanging in the air between them like smoke before it became smoke.

A date.

Victoria’s fingers tightened on the slim silver case. She’d been CEO for four years and known Daniel for three, and in that moment she realized something that hit her harder than any boardroom confrontation.

She knew everything about his work.

She knew nothing about his life.

Daniel Brooks arrived at 7:43 a.m. every weekday. Not 7:40. Not 7:45. Exactly 7:43, as if his internal clock was synced to some satellite the rest of humanity couldn’t access. He unlocked Victoria’s office, calibrated the thermostat to precisely 68 degrees, brewed her coffee dark roast with no cream and half a sugar, and positioned her morning briefing packet at a perfect 45-degree angle on the desk before she walked in at eight.

There were assistants in other departments who gossiped about how impossible Victoria was. How many people she’d run through. How she didn’t say “please” unless she was talking to a judge. How she could flay a vice president with a single look and then return to her spreadsheets like nothing had happened.

They weren’t wrong.

Victoria Hail had cycled through eleven assistants in her first two years as CEO. One lasted nine days. Another lasted three months and left crying in the stairwell. The longest before Daniel had made it to eight months, and Victoria hadn’t even felt guilty when he resigned. Guilty was for people who had time to be soft.

Then Daniel showed up, pale blue shirt, quiet eyes, a handshake that felt like a contract, and an ability to read a schedule like it was a language he’d spoken since birth.

He didn’t ask personal questions. He didn’t try to impress her. He never treated her power like an invitation for familiarity. He answered emails in under two minutes. He flagged conflicts three weeks out. He didn’t need praise, and he didn’t ask for it.

He understood the unspoken rule: work was work. Anything else was a liability.

That was why the one detail on his desk had always bothered Victoria in a way she couldn’t explain.

Tucked between his triple monitor setup and a stack of quarterly reports sat a coffee mug with faded lettering:

WORLD’S OKAYEST DAD.

No one asked about it. No one asked Daniel about anything. He preferred it that way.

Victoria told herself she did too.

That day had already been brutal. Three hours trapped in a board meeting where men in tailored suits argued over quarterly projections as if the universe depended on a single line item, and perhaps in their world it did. Victoria had held her ground, sharp-edged and controlled, while the finance team challenged her strategy and the chairman’s tone suggested he was doing her a favor by allowing her to speak.

When the room finally cleared, Victoria’s neck ached from holding her head so still. Her patience had been chewed raw. She stepped into her office and found Daniel already there, reorganizing her notes from the presentation, highlighting the points the board would try to weaponize against her later.

“Reschedule the Singapore call,” she said without looking up. “Push it to Thursday. Same time.”

“Already done,” Daniel replied.

“I also moved your dinner with Arcadia’s investors to Friday. Reservations confirmed.”

Victoria nodded once.

“The Miller contract,” Daniel continued, “legal signed off this morning. It’s in your inbox with the redlines resolved.”

A brief exhale escaped her, involuntary. This was why Daniel lasted. He didn’t make her drag competence out of people like a reluctant animal. He arrived competent. He remained competent. He made the chaos smaller.

She sank into her chair, reached for the slim silver cigarette case on her desk, and clicked it open. She didn’t smoke often. Only when the pressure became unbearable. Only when she needed something to burn that wasn’t a person.

Today qualified.

She lit it, took a slow drag, and let the tension leak from her shoulders in thin gray threads.

Daniel didn’t comment. He never did.

He existed in her orbit without disrupting it. A rare talent.

And then, at 4:47 p.m., he stood.

“Miss Hail,” he said evenly, as if asking to leave early was as normal as asking for a file. “I need to leave early today.”

Victoria blinked once. In three years Daniel had never left before 6:30 p.m. He’d stayed through holidays. He’d covered weekend emergencies. He’d returned to the office at midnight when a shipment crisis threatened to turn into a headline.

“Something wrong?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral because that was what leaders did. Neutral was power.

“No,” Daniel said. “I just have a date.”

The cigarette paused halfway to her lips.

“A date?” The word slipped out of Victoria before she could stop it, flat and disbelieving, like someone had told her gravity was optional now.

Daniel’s brow furrowed slightly. “Yes.”

“With… someone,” Victoria heard herself add, and immediately hated how small and exposed it sounded.

“That’s generally how dates work,” Daniel replied, not mocking, just factual. The Phantom didn’t waste energy on cruelty.

Victoria stared at him, searching his face for humor, for irony, for anything that would explain why her chest suddenly felt too tight to contain her lungs.

Nothing.

Daniel waited, expression unchanged. Professional.

For three years, Victoria had kept her life trimmed down to what was useful: meetings, numbers, strategy, and silence. She ate alone, worked late, slept in a penthouse that looked out over the river like a throne that came with a view and no warmth. People respected her. People feared her. People kept their distance.

She told herself that distance was safety.

But in the quiet spaces, the distance pressed against her throat like a hand.

Daniel had been the one constant. The one person who saw her exhausted, frustrated, sharp, and didn’t flinch. She trusted him with the company’s pulse. She relied on him with a hunger she refused to name.

And somewhere, without realizing it, she had begun to feel possessive of that reliability.

When Daniel smiled at his phone during lunch, she noticed. When he declined after-work drinks, she told herself she didn’t care and then found herself listening for his footsteps with unnecessary attention. When he mentioned, once, that he had “plans,” she felt a strange tightness in her ribcage that didn’t belong to logic.

Jealousy was for people who loved. Victoria didn’t love. Love made you weak.

So why did the word “date” feel like a blade sliding between her ribs?

She forced her voice back into its usual shape. “Of course,” she said. “Go ahead.”

Daniel nodded once, gathered his things, and headed for the door.

And for reasons she couldn’t name, Victoria felt something crack inside her chest as he walked away.

The moment the door clicked shut, she stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary. The ember died like a tiny insult. Her hands were shaking.

She stared at the half-burned cigarette in the ashtray and tried to talk herself down the way she did when numbers went wrong.

You are reacting. Stop reacting.

His personal life is none of your business.

You have a company to run.

But her mind wouldn’t obey.

Who was she? Someone from the office? No. Daniel didn’t mix work and personal life. Someone he met online? At a gym? Through friends?

Did Daniel have friends?

The thought came with a nauseating clarity. She didn’t know.

She didn’t know where he lived, what he ate, what music he listened to, what he did on weekends. She knew his efficiency and his silence and the exact angle of her briefing packet, but she had never once asked him anything human.

She’d treated him like a function. Like a tool.

And now that tool had stood up and announced a whole life beyond her reach.

Victoria rose abruptly, grabbed her coat, and walked to the window.

Fourteen floors below, Daniel emerged from the building. He checked his phone, and something softened in his face. A smile, small but real, touched his mouth. Victoria’s pulse hammered, and she hated how much that smile affected her, hated that she’d never been the one to put it there.

Daniel turned toward the parking garage.

Victoria’s body moved before her pride could stop it.

She left her office without telling anyone where she was going. The elevator felt too slow. The lobby lights were too bright. Every step toward the exit felt like stepping out of a life she understood and into something messy, unpredictable, alive.

Outside, she caught up with him near the marble columns.

“Daniel.”

He turned, surprised. “Miss Hail.”

She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t have an excuse. She had only the unbearable sensation of watching something important slip out of her hands.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

Daniel’s expression shifted, curiosity sharpening into cautious attention. “Of course.”

Victoria’s fingers tightened around her purse strap. Her heartbeat was loud enough she wondered if he could hear it.

And then, before she could rethink it, she reached out and caught his wrist.

Not tight. Not violent. Just firm enough that he couldn’t keep walking unless he chose to pull away.

Daniel looked down at her hand, then back up at her. “Miss Hail,” he said carefully, as if he was defusing something fragile. “What’s wrong?”

Victoria didn’t let go. For a moment she stood there breathing too fast, looking at him like he was a problem she couldn’t solve because she didn’t have the right equation.

Then she spoke, and the words hit the air like a stone through glass.

“Why haven’t you ever asked me out?”

Daniel blinked. The Phantom, finally, looked genuinely startled.

“What?” he asked, voice low.

“You heard me,” Victoria said, her throat tight. “Three years. You’ve been right there every day. And you never…” Her voice strained, then cracked. “I don’t understand.”

For the first time since he’d known her, Victoria Hail sounded lost.

Daniel’s jaw shifted, as if he was choosing words the way he chose schedules: carefully. “You never wanted that,” he said quietly.

“How do you know what I wanted?” Victoria’s eyes burned. “Did you ever ask?”

“No,” Daniel admitted, and the honesty landed harder than any insult. “Because you made it very clear that personal questions weren’t part of the job.”

Victoria flinched as if he’d touched a bruise.

“That’s not…” She released his wrist, stepped back half a pace. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Daniel asked, steady but no longer distant.

Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples like she could physically hold herself together. “I don’t know. I just…” She looked up, and her eyes met his. “I thought maybe you didn’t see me that way. Like I was just the job, the title, nothing else.”

Daniel stared at her. Three years of silence. Three years of careful distance. And now, all at once, the truth spilling out under fluorescent lobby lights where anyone could walk by and witness the CEO unravel.

“You think I don’t see you?” Daniel’s voice dropped, intimate in a way it had never been at work.

Victoria’s breath hitched.

“I see you every day, Victoria.”

He said her first name like it was dangerous and necessary at the same time.

“I see when you’re exhausted,” Daniel continued, “when you’re frustrated, when you’re pretending everything’s fine because you think showing weakness will cost you. I see all of it.” His gaze didn’t waver. “But I also saw the walls. And I respected them. Because I thought that’s what you needed.”

Victoria swallowed hard. “What if…” she started, then stopped. Her courage trembled on the edge. “What if I don’t need them anymore?”

The question hung between them, fragile and unprotected.

Daniel’s chest tightened, but he didn’t step closer. “Then you should have said something,” he replied gently.

Before I made plans with someone else, the unspoken ending sat in his eyes.

Victoria’s face went pale.

Daniel exhaled, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here,” he said, turning the screen toward her.

Victoria looked down.

A text message sat at the top:

LUCAS: Dad don’t forget. Six. You promised.

Below it was a photo of a hand-drawn birthday invitation, thick with crayon stars and misspelled words and the fierce confidence of a child who believes his celebration matters.

Victoria’s breath stopped in her throat.

“Your son?” she whispered.

Daniel pocketed the phone. “Yes. His name is Lucas. He turned eight today. I promised I’d take him to dinner.”

The world tilted, and shame hit Victoria so fast it was almost dizzying. The date. The smile. The secret life.

It wasn’t romance. It was fatherhood.

“You have a son,” Victoria said faintly, as if speaking it aloud made it real.

“I do,” Daniel replied.

“I didn’t know,” she said, and the words sounded like failure.

Daniel’s expression didn’t sharpen. He didn’t gloat. He simply stated the truth.

“You never asked.”

The sentence wasn’t cruel. It didn’t have to be. Facts were sharp enough on their own.

Victoria lifted a hand to cover her mouth. For a moment she couldn’t speak. When she could, her voice was raw. “God, Daniel, I’m so sorry. I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” Daniel interrupted softly. “And I understand why. But Victoria, you’ve worked with me for three years. You know my schedule down to the minute. You know how you take your coffee.” He paused. “You’ve never once asked me about my life outside this building.”

She couldn’t argue. Couldn’t defend herself. The truth had her pinned.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, quieter.

Daniel’s gaze softened slightly, like the edge of him was capable of mercy when it mattered. “I’m not angry. But I need you to understand something.” His voice firmed, father-strong. “Lucas is the most important person in my life. And if we’re going to have this conversation, whatever this is, that’s not going to change.”

“I wouldn’t want it to,” Victoria said quickly, too quickly, desperate to prove she wasn’t what she’d been.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You say that now. But you don’t know what it means.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just cautious. “Canceled plans. Early mornings. School events in the middle of the workday. Kids get sick at the worst times. And I won’t let anyone, not even you, make him feel like he’s competing for my attention.”

Victoria’s throat tightened because the warning hit somewhere older than adulthood.

Her own childhood flashed: boarding schools, nannies with kind hands and temporary loyalty, a father who measured love in stock portfolios and quarterly wins. Being important had always felt conditional.

“He shouldn’t have to compete,” Victoria said, voice low. “He should always come first.”

Something shifted in Daniel’s eyes, as if the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit. He checked his watch.

It was almost six.

Then he did something that surprised both of them.

“Do you want to come with me?” Daniel asked.

Victoria stared. “What?”

“To dinner,” Daniel clarified. “It’s just Lucas and me. A pizza place downtown. Nothing fancy.”

“You want me to…” Her mind scrambled. “You want me to crash your son’s birthday dinner?”

“I’m inviting you,” Daniel corrected. “That’s not crashing.”

Victoria’s heart thumped in a strange, frightened rhythm.

Daniel hesitated, then drew a line with words the way Victoria drew lines with contracts. “But I need to be clear about something. If you come, it’s not as my boss.” His voice turned serious. “It’s as someone I’m allowing into my life. And that comes with rules.”

“Rules,” Victoria echoed, surprised at the word and how much she suddenly wanted to follow them.

“Lucas doesn’t know about you,” Daniel said. “He doesn’t know what I do for a living beyond office work, and I’d like to keep it that way for now. If you come, you’re not the CEO. You’re just… Victoria.”

Victoria felt something unfold in her chest that wasn’t panic.

Hope, maybe. Terrifying and tender.

“I can do that,” she said carefully. “I can be… a person.”

Daniel studied her for a long moment, weighing sincerity like he weighed risk.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay. But if he asks questions, I’m going to answer honestly.”

“Understood.”

“And if at any point you feel uncomfortable,” Daniel added, “you can leave. No hard feelings.”

Victoria swallowed. “Okay.”

They walked to the parking garage in silence that wasn’t empty anymore. Daniel’s car was a modest sedan, clean but worn, the kind of vehicle that had seen school drop-offs and grocery runs and late-night pharmacy stops. A booster seat sat in the back. Action figures lay scattered on the floor like tiny plastic witnesses to a life Victoria had never been invited into.

She slid into the passenger seat and felt like she’d stepped into another dimension, one where things mattered for reasons that had nothing to do with profit.

“He’s going to ask a lot of questions,” Daniel warned as he started the engine.

“I can handle questions,” Victoria said, trying to sound like herself.

“Not like these,” Daniel replied, and there was a faint smile in his voice. “Lucas doesn’t have a filter.”

They drove downtown, and Daniel told her, in spare sentences, what mattered most: Lucas was curious. Lucas liked rules. Lucas hated wasting food. Lucas believed adults lied about vegetables. Lucas could detect insincerity like a bloodhound.

And then Victoria asked the question she almost didn’t dare ask, because it might be one of the reasons Daniel had kept his life sealed away.

“What happened to his mother?”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. For a moment Victoria thought he wouldn’t answer, and she wouldn’t have blamed him. She was the last person who’d earned the right to pry.

Then he spoke, eyes on the road.

“She left when he was two,” Daniel said. “Said she wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to be tied down.”

Victoria’s chest ached, sharp and immediate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” Daniel replied. “We’re better off.” He swallowed, and his voice softened. “Lucas doesn’t remember her. And honestly… I’m glad. He deserves better than someone who saw him as an obligation.”

The car fell quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that carried meaning, where you didn’t fill the space because you respected what lived there.

The restaurant was tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat on a street Victoria had never noticed. The sign was hand-painted. The windows glowed warm yellow. Inside were checkered tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and the smell of garlic and fresh bread, like a welcome you could taste.

It was nothing like the places Victoria frequented. There was no valet. No minimalist décor. No server reciting a wine list like scripture.

It was perfect.

Lucas was already there, sitting in a booth by the window. He looked exactly like Daniel: dark hair, serious eyes, a face built from the same blueprint. But where Daniel was controlled, Lucas was pure motion. He colored on the paper tablecloth with a red crayon, humming, legs swinging.

The moment he saw Daniel, his whole face lit up.

“Dad!”

He launched himself out of the booth and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s waist.

Daniel grinned, a real grin, wide and unguarded, and Victoria’s stomach flipped because she’d never seen Daniel smile like that. At the office, his expression was always composed, polite, contained. Here, he looked like someone who belonged to joy.

“Hey, buddy,” Daniel said, ruffling Lucas’s hair. “Happy birthday.”

Lucas pulled back, then noticed Victoria.

He stared at her with the frank assessment of a child who hasn’t learned to pretend.

“Who’s that?” Lucas demanded.

“This is Victoria,” Daniel said, steady. “She’s a friend from work. I invited her to join us. Is that okay?”

Lucas looked her up and down like he was evaluating a new rulebook. “Do you like pizza?”

Victoria blinked, thrown by the bluntness. “Yes.”

Lucas nodded solemnly. “Good. Dad’s friends have to like pizza. It’s a rule.”

A laugh burst out of Victoria, startled and genuine.

“I didn’t know there were rules,” she said.

“There’s lots of rules,” Lucas informed her, climbing back into the booth. “Like no phones at the table. And you have to try the garlic knots even if you think you’re full. And if you don’t finish your pizza you have to take it home because wasting food is bad.”

Victoria slid into the seat across from him. “Those sound like good rules.”

“I made them up,” Lucas said proudly.

Daniel sat beside his son. “Lucas is very big on rules.”

“Rules are important,” Lucas declared, as if addressing a courtroom. “Otherwise everything’s chaos.”

Victoria met Daniel’s eyes across the table, and something unspoken passed between them. In the office, their language had always been efficiency and silence. Here, their language was something else: a shared awareness that this moment mattered.

The waiter came. Lucas ordered pepperoni without hesitation. Daniel ordered half pepperoni, half mushroom, because fatherhood was the art of compromising without making it feel like sacrifice. Victoria ordered margherita and tried not to look too impressed by the fact that nobody cared about her title.

Lucas peppered her with questions while they waited. Favorite color. Favorite animal. Whether she believed in ghosts. Whether she could juggle. Whether she’d ever eaten an insect on purpose.

Victoria answered honestly, and to her surprise she found herself relaxing, the tight band around her ribs loosening with each ridiculous inquiry. Lucas wasn’t impressed by wealth or status. He wanted stories. He wanted sincerity. He wanted to know if she liked dinosaurs.

“I like dinosaurs,” Victoria told him.

Lucas’s eyes widened. “Okay. That’s important.”

When the pizza arrived, Lucas launched into a story about his school science project involving a volcano and an amount of baking soda that, according to Daniel’s expression, had been a personal tragedy for their kitchen.

Daniel listened with the patience of someone who’d heard it three times already but still treated it like the most interesting thing on earth. He cut Lucas’s pizza into smaller pieces without being asked. He slid a napkin toward him before the sauce could become a problem. He laughed at Lucas’s jokes, even the ones that didn’t make sense, because Lucas was eight and laughter was how you told a child they were safe.

Victoria watched them like she was seeing a kind of wealth she’d never been taught to value.

This was love, uncomplicated and unguarded.

And somewhere between garlic knots and crayon stars, Victoria realized with startling clarity that she wanted to be part of it.

Then Lucas asked the question that changed the temperature of the entire table.

“Dad,” Lucas said, suddenly serious. “Have you found a mom for me yet?”

Daniel froze.

Victoria’s breath caught.

Lucas looked between them, confused by the pause. “What? You said you were looking.”

“I said,” Daniel corrected gently, “that if I met someone special, I’d introduce you. That’s not the same thing.”

Lucas frowned, thinking hard. “But you brought Victoria. As a friend.”

“Yes.”

“So is she special?” Lucas asked, blunt as a hammer.

Daniel’s eyes flicked to Victoria. The air felt thin.

“Yes,” Daniel said quietly. “She is.”

Lucas beamed like he’d just solved a math problem no one else could. “Then she could be my mom.”

“Lucas,” Daniel sighed, rubbing his face, “it doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” Lucas demanded. “She likes pizza.”

“Relationships are complicated,” Daniel said patiently. “And being a parent is a big responsibility. You can’t just decide someone is your mom because they like the same dinosaurs.”

Lucas scowled. “That’s a dumb rule.”

“It’s reality,” Daniel replied, gentle but firm.

Lucas turned to Victoria, eyes wide. “Do you like my dad?”

Victoria felt her heart hammer like she’d been caught standing too close to a ledge. She could feel Daniel’s gaze on her, steady and frightened, like he was bracing for a fall.

“Yes,” Victoria said, voice soft. “I do.”

Lucas leaned back, satisfied. “Then what’s the problem?”

Out of the mouths of children, truth arrived without armor.

After dinner, Lucas insisted Victoria take a garlic knot “for later” because rules applied to guests too. He hugged his father again, then, after a moment of hesitation, hugged Victoria’s waist like he’d decided she was safe enough for contact.

Victoria stood very still, stunned by how much a small pair of arms could dismantle her defenses.

Outside, the night air was cold. Daniel buckled Lucas into the back seat with practiced ease. Lucas fell asleep before they were three blocks away, head lolling against the window, one hand still clutching his leftover knot like treasure.

The drive back was quiet.

Not empty. Just full.

Victoria stared out the window, replaying the evening in her mind, feeling the echo of Lucas’s hug, hearing Daniel say “Yes, she is,” as if it were a truth he’d been holding quietly for years.

Finally, she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria said.

Daniel glanced at her. “For what?”

“For not seeing you,” she admitted. “Not really. For three years.”

Daniel’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “You were my boss,” he said. “Boundaries made sense.”

“No,” Victoria insisted, turning to face him. “It was more than that. I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of letting anyone get close,” she said, and the confession tasted like blood and relief. “Of being vulnerable. Of… wanting something I didn’t think I deserved.”

Daniel didn’t speak for a moment, and in the silence Victoria realized how dangerous it was to say these things to a man who had every right to keep walking away.

“What do you want, Victoria?” Daniel asked quietly.

She hesitated, then let the words come as they were, unpolished and true.

“I want to know you,” she said. “The real you, not just the assistant who makes my life easier. I want to know what you read, what you dream about, what makes you laugh when no one’s watching. Because I care about you.” Her voice trembled. “I think I have for a long time. I just didn’t let myself admit it.”

Daniel’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I thought I was just a tool to you,” he admitted.

Victoria’s chest tightened painfully. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry. That was wrong.” She searched for words that could carry the weight of her regret. “You’re not a tool. You’re… the best part of my day, every day. And I didn’t realize it until I thought I was losing you.”

Daniel pulled up in front of her building. He put the car in park but didn’t turn off the engine.

“I need you to understand something,” he said, turning toward her fully. The streetlights painted his face in soft stripes. “Lucas isn’t just my son. He’s my entire world. Anyone who’s part of my life has to be part of his. That’s non-negotiable.”

“I understand,” Victoria said.

“Do you?” Daniel asked, not unkindly, but seriously. “Because it’s not just about liking him. It’s about showing up. Being consistent. Being someone he can count on.” He paused. “And if you’re not ready for that, if there’s even a chance you’ll decide it’s too much, I need to know now.”

Victoria met his gaze and didn’t flinch.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how to do this,” she said. “I don’t have a great track record with relationships. I’ve never been around kids much. But I want to try.” She drew a breath. “And I don’t do anything lightly. If I’m committing to you, to Lucas… I’m all in.”

Daniel studied her face like he was reading between lines.

Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he said, and the single word felt like a door opening.

“Okay,” Victoria echoed, almost afraid to believe it.

“We can try,” Daniel said. “Slowly. No pressure. No expectations.” He paused. “But if at any point it feels like it’s not working, we stop. For Lucas’s sake.”

“Agreed,” Victoria said.

Daniel reached across the console. His hand found hers.

For a moment, they just sat there, fingers intertwined, breathing in the strange new reality they’d stumbled into.

Then Daniel said softly, “You did good tonight with him.”

Victoria’s mouth curved into a small smile. “He’s a great kid.”

“He is,” Daniel agreed. His thumb brushed her knuckles. “And he liked you. That matters.”

“What about you?” Victoria asked quietly, suddenly brave.

Daniel’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Victoria let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Daniel’s eyes softened, and for the first time Victoria saw something in him that looked like fear.

“Because you scared me,” he admitted.

“I scared you?” Victoria blinked, startled.

“Terrified me,” Daniel said with a faint smile. “You’re brilliant. Powerful. Completely out of my league. And I was just the guy who scheduled your meetings.”

“You’re so much more than that,” Victoria said.

Daniel squeezed her hand gently. “Maybe. But I didn’t think you’d ever see it that way.”

“I see it now,” Victoria whispered.

Daniel held her gaze for a long moment, then leaned across the console and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. It was brief and gentle, but it felt like a promise that had been waiting a long time to be made.

Victoria went upstairs alone.

The penthouse lights turned on automatically. The space stretched wide and silent around her, polished and expensive and, most days, unbearably empty.

Tonight the quiet felt different.

Not heavy.

Expectant.

She set her purse down, slipped off her heels, and walked to the window. The city glittered below, thousands of lights, thousands of lives. For years, she’d stood at this window and felt separate from it all, untouchable and alone.

Now she felt connected to something small and human and risky.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from Daniel:

Lucas wants to know if you’ll come to his soccer game next Saturday.

Victoria’s heart swelled so quickly it almost hurt.

She typed back:

I’ll be there.

Then another message arrived almost immediately.

Fair warning: he’s not very good. But he tries hard.

Victoria smiled at the screen, warmth spreading through her chest like sunrise.

That’s all that matters, she typed. That he tries.

There was a pause, then:

Thank you for tonight.

Victoria stared at the words, realizing how rarely anyone thanked her for anything that wasn’t profit.

Thank you for inviting me, she replied.

Good night, Victoria, Daniel texted.

Good night, Daniel.

Victoria set her phone down and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

She didn’t know where this was going. She didn’t know if she’d be good at it. She didn’t know if she could become the kind of person Daniel and Lucas needed.

But she wanted to try.

And for the first time in years, wanting didn’t feel like weakness.

It felt like the beginning of a life she hadn’t realized she was allowed to have.

THE END