Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 97: Close Enough

The estate was quiet.

Most of the lights in the east wing were off, except for a thin line of light coming from under the study door. The hallway was dim, lit only by small wall lamps at regular intervals—the carpet muffled footsteps. The air was still.

Franz closed the front door quietly and did not turn on any lights. He placed his keys on the console table, folded his coat over his arm, and did not check his phone.

He walked toward the stairs, the carpet softening his steps. The second floor felt warmer than the coastal wind he had left only hours earlier. As he turned into the east wing, he noticed a faint light coming from under Arianne’s study door.

He knocked once.

"Come in," she said.

Her voice flowed smoothly through the door. It had no surprises and no raised tone.

Franz opened the door and stepped inside. The study lamp cast a circle of light over Arianne’s desk, where documents were stacked neatly, one folder open in front of her.

She looked up when he came in, then lowered her gaze to finish reading.

Franz closed the door quietly. The faint smell of salt still clung to his coat; it didn’t belong in the room, sharp against paper and polished wood. Arianne noticed it without looking up, the coastal wind following him inside.

They stayed silent; the week did not show itself.

Franz put his coat on the back of a chair. The fabric made a soft sound against the wood. He took off his watch and set it next to the lamp. The skin beneath it was marked faintly where the strap had pressed for days, the imprint slow to fade. He rotated his wrist once before letting his arm fall.

Arianne finished the line she was marking and closed the folder. She did not rise from her chair.

He moved behind her, one hand settling at her waist while the other braced lightly against the desk. He leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against her shoulder. Arianne’s pen paused once before she set it down, her hands remaining on the desk. His shoulders lowered. She covered his hand where it rested at her waist.

He tightened his hold once.

She pushed the chair back slightly.

The movement closed the space between them. The desk shifted slightly against the rug, the sound barely there. His arms wrapped around her fully now, weight settling instead of hovering.

Arianne felt the shift before she understood it. The tension in his shoulders was not obvious when he walked in, but it showed in how he leaned into her more now. It was a slight easing.

Her fingers rested on the back of his hand, keeping it in place, the gesture quiet and steady.

His other hand settled at her opposite side, completing the hold.

He did not speak.

Arianne leaned back slightly against him, closing the small gap between them. Her back touched his chest. The week dropped away.

Outside the window, the estate grounds were dark. The east wing lights reflected faintly against the glass. The house remained still.

His hands moved slightly. One hand slid higher along her side, while the other rested flat against her stomach.

Her fingers pressed lightly into the back of his hand.

"You’re cold," Arianne said quietly—observation, not concern.

"Not anymore," Franz replied, the words low against her skin.

Silence returned.

She reached back with her other hand and placed it on his forearm. The muscle was still tight under the fabric. She didn’t mention it. Instead, her thumb gently traced the seam of his sleeve, a small movement that didn’t need any acknowledgment.

The study lamp hummed faintly. Somewhere farther down the hall, a floorboard adjusted with the settling of the house. No other sound intruded.

Franz drew in a breath and let it out slowly. His grip loosened by degrees, and Arianne felt the shift in her own shoulders. The tension that had held along his forearms eased first.

The mornings had started early, meetings ran long, calls remained brief and practical—none of it leaving room for absence, only movement from one task to the next.

With his weight steady against her, she noticed the difference.

She tightened her hand on his.

The hold tightened, drawing her closer.

There was no urgency in the movement. No escalation. Just confirmation.

Her eyes closed briefly.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the dark reflection in the window. In the glass, two figures stood—one seated, one behind—outlined in the lamp’s narrow spill of light.

After a moment, she shifted in her chair and turned slightly in his arms to face him more directly. She didn’t break the embrace; she just changed its angle.

Adjustment came without pause, hands sliding to her back. The movement was automatic, practiced without rehearsal. One rested between her shoulder blades, the other lower at her waist.

They stood like that for several seconds more.

He did not apologize for being gone.

She did not remark on the duration.

He gently brushed his forehead against her temple. Then, he pulled back just enough to see her face. He looked tired. The fatigue showed around his eyes.

She reached up and smoothed a thumb once along the line beneath one eye. The motion was brief, almost practical.

"You should rest," she said.

"In a minute."

His voice was steadier than it had been outside the door.

Arianne studied him for a second longer before lowering her hand.

Franz remained where he was. His arms tightened once more around her, less from need than from certainty.

The house remained quiet, its usual order intact.

Somewhere beyond the east wing, the twins slept undisturbed. The house carried its usual shape around them—rooms in order, doors closed, routines intact.

Franz closed his eyes for a brief moment. The line of his shoulders finally leveled.

Arianne held him there.

After a while, she reached past him and switched off the desk lamp.

The room dimmed, leaving only the faint spill of hallway light beneath the door.

Their silhouettes held against the window a moment longer before the darkness settled.