For a long time, neither of us said anything.

Her phone lay forgotten beside her, the screen still faintly lit. The soft hum of the city outside slipped through the curtains — distant traffic, and the occasional echo of laughter from somewhere below.

Her eyes didn't move, just stayed on me, patient, steady, almost expectant. Like she'd known this was coming.

I exhaled and rubbed a hand over my face. "I don't even know where to start."

"Then just start somewhere," she said quietly.

Her voice wasn't cold. It wasn't warm either. It was… careful, the kind of tone you use when you're afraid saying too much will make something break.

I sat down at the edge of the bed, facing her. "That night your dad invited us over for dinner…"

Her gaze flickered. "Yeah?"

"I didn't tell you everything that happened."

Her brow arched slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" I stopped, the words catching halfway up my throat. I looked at her, then down at my hands, then back again. "After dinner that night… when your dad said he wanted to talk in his study, just the two of us. The... man-to-man conversation."

Her lips parted slightly, her expression cautious. "Okay…"

"At first, it was just… small talk. Work, Gray & Milton, how the company kept expanding." I forced out a humorless chuckle. "It almost sounded normal, then he brought up the infrastructure bid."

She frowned. "What's that?"

I met her gaze. "It's a government project. Huge one — multi-sector, long-term. The official name's the Meridian Development Initiative, but everyone just calls it the government infrastructure bid. It's supposed to reshape the country's infrastructure over the next decade — highways, power grids, public transportation, the works."

Her brows drew together. "I've heard of something like that… but I didn't realize that was the name."

"It's not technically a bid," I said. "The government just… likes calling it that. Some kind of inside joke, I guess — makes it sound competitive. Companies submit proposals, but it's not about the lowest number. It's about influence. Who they trust to handle the contracts."

She folded her arms slowly, listening.

"Gray & Milton are one of the front-runners," I continued. "We're handling the sustainability and design side of the proposal. Moreau Dynamics is pushing their own bid — mostly the engineering approach. But the Meridian Development Initiative isn't split into real sectors, not officially. The government calls them that just to organize presentations. In the end, only one company gets to oversee everything — design, engineering, logistics, all of it. That means whoever wins takes on the bulk of the project workload, the contracts, the publicity, and, of course, the pay."

She blinked once. "Right. So?"

"So," I said quietly, "he asked me to make sure his company wins."

The words hung between us, stark and unsoftened.

Her expression didn't change at first. Just stillness — that unreadable, beautiful kind of stillness she had when she was processing something. Then her voice, careful.

> "Asked you, or...?"

I exhaled through my nose. "He didn't say it outright. But the meaning was clear enough. He said things like 'You're in a good position to influence how this turns out,' and 'A family should look out for its own.'" I shook my head. "I didn't need a translator to know what he was really saying."

> "And what did you say?"

"I told him no."

Val didn't say anything at first. Her expression didn't harden, didn't soften either — it just stayed still. Too still. I searched her face, but there was nothing to read there. Not anger. Not surprise. Just quiet.

She blinked slowly, her gaze lowering for half a second before coming back to me. "What did he say?"

I hesitated, remembering the way the light from the study had reflected off the glass of his whiskey, the calculated calm in his voice.

"He said I'd regret it. Word for word — You'll regret this, Kai. Then he smiled, like it was just another business conversation."

Val's gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers tracing invisible lines against the fabric of her dress. No shock. No outrage. Just quiet recognition.

After a beat, she looked up, meeting my eyes again. "And you didn't think to tell me any of this sooner?"

"I wanted to," I said quietly. "A hundred times, I wanted to. But you were finally… okay with him. After everything. You'd started having a real relationship again, something you never got to have growing up. You were finally at peace with him, Val. I didn't want to be the reason that changed."

Her voice was quieter now, trembling just slightly. "So instead, you took away the truth."

"I know," I said, and the words came out rough. "I thought I was protecting you."

Her eyes softened, not out of forgiveness, but pain. "You think I didn't already know what he's capable of? Kai, I grew up with him. I know exactly who he is."

I stared at her. "Then why—"

"Because he's still my father," she said simply. "And I keep hoping that one day he'll stop treating everything like it's a transaction. Like we're people and not pieces on his board."

Her voice cracked on the last word. She closed her eyes for a second, exhaled, then looked back at me. "You should've told me. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt."

I nodded. "You're right."

Her gaze lingered on me for a long moment. Then, softer, "So why now? Why tell me tonight?"

I swallowed. "Because keeping it to myself is starting to hurt more than the thought of you being angry at me."

She didn't reply at first. Just watched me, her expression unreadable, eyes glistening faintly in the dim light.

Then she whispered, "I'm not angry at you."

I looked up, surprised.

"I'm angry at him," she said. "For putting you in that position. For thinking he could use you. For making you feel like you had to choose between protecting me and telling me the truth."

I moved closer, hesitating before reaching for her hand. She didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "For not telling you sooner. For letting it fester until it turned into all this distance."

She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry too. For being cold. For… making you feel like I didn't want to be near you." Her smile trembled. "It's not that I stopped loving you, Kai. I just didn't know how to act around you anymore without feeling like I was doing something wrong."

I exhaled through a tight throat. "We both messed up."

"Yeah," she said softly. "We did."

The silence that followed wasn't sharp this time. It was heavy, but real, like we were finally breathing the same air again.

"I missed you," she whispered finally.

It wasn't grand or dramatic. It was raw. Simple. The kind of truth that hurt to say.

I smiled faintly, my chest tightening. "I missed you too."

We stayed that way for a long time, just looking at each other, her thumb brushing the back of my hand.

Then she let out a small, breathy laugh. "You know what's funny? You always think I'm the strong one."

I raised an eyebrow. "You kind of are."

"Not tonight," she said, shaking her head. "Tonight I feel… small. Tired. But also… relieved."

"Relieved?"

"That it's out now," she said. "That I finally know."

"Yeah." I gave her a small smile. "Feels like we've both been holding our breath for months."

I leaned in, pressing my forehead lightly against hers. "Then maybe it's time we start breathing again."

Her lips curved faintly. "You sound like a motivational poster."

"I'm serious," I said, laughing softly. "I don't want to keep losing us over things we can actually talk about."

Her eyes softened. "Then let's talk. No more silence or secrets."

"Deal."

Then she shifted closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can I just… stay like this for a bit?"

I nodded. "As long as you want."

She leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder. My hand found her back, fingers tracing idle patterns through the soft fabric of her shirt.

The clock ticked quietly in the background. After a while, Val murmured, "You know this doesn't fix everything, right?"

"I know."

And I did. Because she was right, this wasn't over. Not with her father, not with the Meridian Development Initiative, not with everything still hanging in the balance. The bid was far from decided, and when the time came, our worlds were bound to clash again — hers and mine, business and love, truth and loyalty.

"I'll talk to him," she whispered.

I started to protest, but she shook her head. "No. I need to. I can't keep acting like everything's fine with my family when it's not."

I sighed. "Just… be careful."

"I will."

She smiled faintly, then reached for the light switch beside the bed. The room fell into a soft haze of moonlight.

We lay down, her head resting against my chest, my arm around her. No walls this time, just quiet, steady warmth, like we were finally breathing in sync again.

She said she was fine. But I knew she wasn't. Not really.

And maybe that was okay.

Because for the first time in a long time, we weren't pretending.

We were just trying.

And for now — that was enough.

---

To be continued...

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