Franz continued, the words coming faster now, like they’d been locked up for months and finally broke out. "I think about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m the one who benefited the most from their deaths. I got to marry you. I got a family. The twins. This life. This house. None of this would have happened if they hadn’t died."

His voice tightened. "I don’t want to think they paid the price for my happiness. But I can’t stop thinking it. I can’t stop wondering if I’m — if this — if any of it would exist without what happened to them."

Arianne stared down at him. His face hidden against her stomach. His shoulders tight enough to snap.

He’d been carrying this. Months. Maybe since the funeral. Maybe since the moment he’d stood in the mausoleum and watched her walk toward the twins.

She hadn’t known.

Her throat moved before she spoke. "I made a promise to Alex."

Quiet. Thinner than she meant it to be.

"I would return for the twins’ fifth birthday. To meet them. To see them properly. He’d been asking me for years to come back, just for a visit, and I kept saying I would. Eventually I promised. Their fifth birthday. I’d be there."

She paused. Her pulse was in her neck.

"I was supposed to come earlier. For their fourth birthday. But something came up at work. A crisis. I was delayed. Immensely delayed. I kept telling Alex I’d be there soon, and then soon became later, and later became — "

She stopped. Swallowed. Her nails pressed into her palm.

"I only returned when I received the news. Of the accident. I dropped everything and came. But I was too late."

Franz didn’t move. His body stayed pressed against hers.

"So yes. I would have come back. Sooner or later. Alex made sure of it. He never stopped asking. He never stopped pushing. He was — " She searched for the word. "Persistent. In his way."

She looked down at the top of his head.

"I have no doubt Alex would have set me up with you. He wouldn’t have wasted the opportunity. He mentioned you. During my exile. Subtly. He never pushed. He just planted seeds. Franz did this. Franz did that. Franz misses you. Have you talked to Franz lately? He’d work your name into conversations that had nothing to do with you, and he’d do it so smoothly I wouldn’t notice until later."

Franz lifted his head. Looked at her. "He did that?"

"He did that. For five years."

"He never told me."

"He wouldn’t have. Alex didn’t announce his strategies. He just executed them."

Franz stared at her. The guilt still there, but something else alongside it. Wonder. Real wonder, like a kid seeing something he didn’t think existed.

Arianne continued. "For some time after I took over Summers Corporation, I noticed your feelings for me."

His eyes widened. "Alex told you?"

"No. I’m not that oblivious." Her voice dropped. "I saw how you looked at me. Since you were young. Since you were a teenager and I was already working with your brother. You’d come into the office and you’d look at me like — "

Her chest tightened.

"Like I was the only person in the room. Even when the room was full."

He was very still. She could feel the heat coming off him.

"I thought it was childhood admiration. A crush. That it would disappear when you grew up. When you met more people. When your world broadened. I thought — he’s young. He’ll meet someone his own age. He’ll forget about me."

She looked at him. "You didn’t. Even after Dominic. Even after the engagement. Even after everything. Your feelings stayed the same. I noticed. I just — didn’t acknowledge it."

"Why?" His voice was rough. Not angry. Raw. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

"Because saying it would have forced both of us to carry it. I didn’t want you to be burdened. I was older. I was — involved. With Dominic. With the company. I thought acknowledging your feelings would only complicate things for you. I thought you’d grow out of them. I was trying to protect you from something I didn’t think you should have to carry."

"I carried it anyway." His voice cracked on the last word. "For years."

Her throat closed. "I know."

"When did you start seeing me differently?" He sat up now, turning to face her. "Not as Alex’s younger brother. Not as the boy with the crush. As — someone. Someone you could — "

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Arianne’s hand sat in her lap, still warm from where his head had been. She looked at him. At the man he’d become. The man who’d waited for her without asking for anything in return.

"I’m not certain when," she said finally. "It wasn’t a single moment. It was gradual. The more time I spent with you, the more I realized I admired you a little more than the day before. And then a little more than that. Until one day I looked at you and realized I wasn’t just admiring you. I was — "

The word hung there. Unspoken. Understood.

He reached up. His hand cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, slow and gentle.

"I would have waited," he said. "If Alex and Layla hadn’t died. If you’d come back for the twins’ birthday. I would have waited. I was already waiting."

"I know."

"I would have waited forever."

Her eyes stung. "I know that too."

He leaned forward. Pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes closed. His breath warm against her lips.

"I’m glad you didn’t have to," she whispered.

He kissed her. Not hungry. Not desperate. Slow and certain, the way he did everything that mattered. When he pulled back, his hand was still on her cheek.

"Thank you," he said. "For telling me."

"You asked."

"I’ve been afraid to ask for months."

She reached up. Covered his hand with hers. Held it there. "You don’t have to be afraid. Not with me. Not anymore."

He nodded. Lay back down. His head returned to her lap. Her fingers returned to his hair. The book was still on the nightstand. The scripts were still unread. The lamp was still on low. The house was still quiet.

In four days, he would leave for filming. The bed would be half-empty. The hours would stretch long. She would wait for him the way she’d promised she would.

But tonight he was here. His head in her lap. Her fingers in his hair. The guilt released. The confession made. The years of unspoken knowledge finally named between them.

He closed his eyes. She kept stroking his hair. The clock ticked on the nightstand. The house settled deeper into the dark.

Four days.