Chapter 74

Naomi shifted first, lifting her glass and nodding toward the couch like she needed the change of scenery to breathe again. Rowan followed without comment, both of them settling into opposite corners before the space slowly, naturally closed between them.

Naomi stared into her glass, watching the surface go still like it might answer for her. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet—careful.

“I don’t think Celeste loves me the way I love her.”

The words hung there, raw and unprotected.

She let out a small, humorless breath and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Rowan didn’t rush her. She stayed steady, grounded, letting the silence do its work.

A tear slipped free before Naomi could stop it. She wiped at her eye quickly, more frustrated than broken.

Rowan turned toward her then. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Naomi looked up, startled.

“You didn’t push her. You didn’t manipulate anything,” Rowan continued calmly. “You responded to something that was already there.”

Naomi swallowed, her fingers tightening around the glass. “It still feels like I broke something.”

Rowan shook her head once. “You didn’t break it. You exposed it.”

That landed harder than anything else had. Naomi exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping an inch like she’d been holding them up all morning.

“I just… love her openly,” Naomi said. “And she loves in a way that keeps her safe.”

Rowan leaned back against the couch, thinking. “Celeste loves big,” she said after a moment. “She just doesn’t always love clearly.”

Naomi nodded, eyes stinging again. “I should’ve known better.”

“It would’ve happened eventually,” Rowan said gently.

Naomi scoffed and glanced away. “Don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Rowan replied. “The way you two move around each other? The way you read her without asking? I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Naomi shook her head, a quiet laugh slipping out despite herself. “Hush.”

Rowan smiled, softer now. “You know her like muscle memory. Anyone would’ve fallen there.”

That finally cracked the tension. Naomi laughed under her breath, rubbing her face. “Okay. That was rude.”

“But true,” Rowan said, warmth still in her voice.

They sat in silence for a moment—easy, unforced. No pressure to fill it.

Naomi finally looked at Rowan, her expression tired but grateful. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “For not making me feel like the villain.”

Rowan shrugged lightly. “You’re not. None of you are.”

Naomi nodded. “It’s just… messy.”

“Yeah,” Rowan agreed, leaning back into the couch. “Messy.”

Rowan broke the silence with a quiet huff of a laugh, more disbelief than humor. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, rubbing her hands together like she was trying to ground herself.

“This is anything but professional between me and Celeste,” she said finally.

Naomi looked over at her, listening.

Rowan shook her head, eyes fixed on the floor. “It’s crazy, actually. I wasn’t supposed to fall for her. That was never the plan.” She let out a slow breath. “She was a job. A role. A contract. And somehow… it turned into this.”

She leaned back against the couch, jaw tightening. “Do you know how careful I’ve been my whole career? I don’t mix work and feelings. Ever. I’ve watched people ruin themselves doing that.”

Her gaze flicked to Naomi, honest and a little shaken. “This could mess up my career. One wrong rumor, one bad headline, one messy fallout—and suddenly I’m not taken seriously anymore. I become a story instead of an actor.”

Naomi’s expression softened. “That’s a heavy thing to carry alone.”

Rowan nodded. “Yeah. And the worst part?” She gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t even see it coming. I just… fell. Somewhere between late nights on set and trusting her with parts of myself I usually keep locked up.”

She shook her head again, quieter now. “I wasn’t supposed to care like this.”

Naomi tilted her head, watching Rowan spiral just a little, then broke into a grin.

“Well,” she said lightly, trying to cut the heaviness, “if everything blows up and you ever need a place to stay… my door’s open.”

Rowan glanced at her. “That your subtle way of flirting or offering asylum?”

Naomi laughed. “Both. And—” she lowered her voice dramatically, leaning in, “—secretly I’m low-key rich. But don’t tell anyone.”

Rowan froze. Slowly turned. “When you say rich…”

Naomi shrugged, casual. “I mean… I can pretty much have whatever I want.”

Rowan squinted at her. “Okay, no. Let’s test this. Private jet.”

Naomi nodded. “Already have one.”

Rowan blinked. “No.”

“Yep.”

“A house in Greece. Or Italy.”

Naomi smiled wider. “Both.”

Rowan sat up straighter. “You’re lying.”

“I swear.”

Rowan looked around the apartment, eyes narrowing as she took in the modest space. “Then why this apartment?” she asked, genuinely confused. “No offense, it’s cute but—”

Naomi cut in easily, “When I bought the building, I thought this unit was adorable.”

Rowan choked. Literally choked.

“You—” she coughed, hand to her chest. “You bought the building?”

Naomi nodded like she’d just said she bought groceries. “Yeah. I own this one.” She paused, then added with a crooked smile, “I actually own a few buildings. Maybe some restaurants. Maybe a few other things.”

Rowan stared at her. “You’re insane.”

Naomi laughed. “I try to keep it low-key.”

“You failed,” Rowan said flatly.

Naomi shrugged. “Fair.”

She stood, stretching like this was all completely normal. “You actually caught me at a weird moment. I wasn’t even planning to stay here—I only stopped by because it was the closest place for me to be comfortable and get my mind right before driving again.”

Rowan’s brows shot up. “Closer than what?”

“My other places,” Naomi said. Then, casually, “Wanna see my main house?”

Rowan stared at her again. “Your main house?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

Then Rowan grinned. “Hell yeah.”

Naomi reached for her phone, already moving. “Alright, come on. Let’s get dressed.” She glanced back over her shoulder, amused. “I’ll call my driver.”

Rowan shook her head, laughing as she followed. “I knew there was something suspiciously calm about you.”

Naomi winked. “That’s just the money talking.”

“Here,” she said. “Comfortable but still cute. Trust me.”

Rowan picked up the outfit, inspecting it. “You dress everyone you kidnap like this?”

“Only the ones I like,” Naomi replied smoothly.

Rowan snorted, shaking her head as she stood. “You are unreal.”

They got ready side by side—Rowan in the bathroom tugging on the borrowed clothes, Naomi slipping into something effortless and put-together, hair still slightly wild from the morning. When Rowan stepped back out, Naomi paused, actually paused, leaning against the doorframe.

“Okay,” Naomi said, impressed. “Yeah. That works.”

Rowan glanced down at herself, then back up. “You trying to make this harder on purpose?”

“Maybe,” Naomi said with a grin. “Keeps things interesting.”

They grabbed their phones, and sunglasses, the energy between them lighter now—buzzing with anticipation instead of tension. Naomi checked her phone once, nodded, and headed for the door.

“Driver’s waiting.”

The elevator ride down was quiet but charged. Rowan leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, stealing glances at Naomi when she thought she wasn’t looking. Naomi caught one and smiled but didn’t say anything—letting the moment stretch.

Outside, a sleek black car waited at the curb.

Rowan stopped short. “Of course it’s that car.”

Naomi opened the door for her with a playful bow. “After you.”

Rowan slid inside, laughing under her breath. Naomi followed, giving the driver a brief nod.

“Home,” Naomi said simply.

As the car pulled away, Rowan looked out the window, then back at Naomi. “So,” she said, voice lighter but curious, “how far is ‘main house’ exactly?”

Naomi leaned back, relaxed, eyes forward. “Far enough that you’ll forget about the condo for a while.”

Rowan smiled at that—slow, genuine.

“Good,” she said. “I think I need that.”

The car rolls through the gate without stopping.

Rowan doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until the driveway curves and the house finally comes into view.

Glass. Steel. Warm light spilling outward like the place is alive.

“Naomi…” Rowan murmurs without meaning to.

Naomi just smiles, small and knowing, eyes forward. “Yeah.”

The driver pulls to a smooth stop. Before Rowan can even process what she’s seeing, Naomi’s already out of the car, rounding it to open Rowan’s door like it’s second nature.

“Come on,” Naomi says gently. “I think you’ll like the back.”

The house opens seamlessly—walls of glass sliding away instead of doors. The air shifts the moment they step inside. Clean. Quiet. Intentional. No echo. No excess. Just space that feels… held.

Rowan barely notices the interior because Naomi doesn’t stop there.

She leads her straight through.

And then—

The backyard opens up.

Rowan freezes.

It’s not just beautiful. It’s still.

An infinity pool stretches out in front of them, water blending perfectly into the horizon. City lights flicker in the distance, far enough away to feel irrelevant. Firelight dances low and steady along a modern pit set into stone. Cushioned seating curves inward, arranged for conversation, not spectacle.

Everything is calm.

Everything is deliberate.

“Oh my god,” Rowan breathes. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Naomi steps beside her, hands tucked casually into her pockets. “It is. I promise.”

Rowan turns slowly, taking it all in. The soft ground lighting. The subtle landscaping. The way the pool reflects the sky like a mirror. No clutter. No chaos. Just… peace.

“This is where you come when you disappear, isn’t it?” Rowan asks quietly.

Naomi glances at her, surprised — then impressed. “Yeah,” she admits. “When I don’t want to be needed.”

That lands deeper than Rowan expects.

They walk toward the fire pit. Naomi pours them both a drink from the bar that slides seamlessly out of the wall like a secret. Rowan watches her movements—unhurried, confident, unshowy.

Control without arrogance.

They sit.

The fire crackles softly.

Rowan exhales. “Okay. I get it now.”

Naomi tilts her head. “Get what?”

“You.” Rowan gestures vaguely around them. “You don’t live loudly. You live securely.”

Naomi chuckles. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Naomi rises first, setting her glass on the low table. “Come on,” she says softly. “I’ll show you the rest.”

Rowan stands, still a little dazed, and follows.

Inside, the house unfolds slowly, intentionally—nothing abrupt, nothing wasted. The living room opens wide but never feels empty, anchored by low, deep couches and shelves that hold more books than décor. Personal. Lived in. A space meant to be used, not admired from a distance.

“This is where I actually sit,” Naomi says, almost sheepish, tapping the arm of the couch. “Not the ‘impress people’ area. The real one.”

Rowan smiles. “I figured.”

They pass into the kitchen—sleek but warm, stone counters softened by wood accents. Everything has a place. Nothing feels staged.

“You cook?” Rowan asks.

Naomi shrugs. “When my brain won’t shut up. Or when I’m trying to avoid answering texts.”

That earns a quiet laugh.

Down a hallway, the lighting shifts—lower, calmer. Naomi pauses at one door and pushes it open.

“My office,” she says.

Rowan steps inside and immediately feels the difference. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A wide desk facing outward instead of against a wall. Plants lining the edges, thriving. Journals stacked neatly beside a laptop. No clutter—just intention.

“You think here,” Rowan murmurs.

Naomi watches her closely. “Yeah. Or I come here when I don’t want to feel rushed into decisions.”

Rowan nods, understanding more than she expected to.

They continue—past a guest room that feels more like a sanctuary than a spare, then another, each one quiet and intentional. Finally, Naomi stops at the end of the hall.

She hesitates for just a second before opening the door.

“My room.”

It’s darker, softer. The bed is low and wide, dressed in neutral tones. Windows frame the night sky. There’s nothing extravagant—just space to breathe.

Rowan steps inside slowly, absorbing it. “This house feels like… permission,” she says after a moment. “To exist without performing.”

Naomi leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely. “That might be the point.”

Rowan turns back to her, studying her face now—the calm, the steadiness, the quiet confidence that doesn’t ask to be validated.

“I get why people trust you,” Rowan says softly. “Even without knowing all of this.”

Naomi smiles, small and genuine. “You see people. That helps.”

They stand there for a moment, the house holding them in its silence—no pressure, no expectations. Just two people learning the shape of each other in a space built for honesty.

Naomi finally clears her throat, a hint of playfulness returning. “There’s more. But we can take it slow.”

Rowan smiles. “I like slow.”

Naomi stays leaned against the doorway, watching Rowan take in the room like she’s mapping it emotionally, not visually.

“You know why it feels so easy to talk to me,” Naomi says casually, like it’s an afterthought.

Rowan glances back at her. “Why?”

Naomi smiles, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Because I literally trained for it.” She pushes off the doorframe and steps inside, resting a shoulder against the wall. “I have a degree in psychology. In a past life, I was a therapist.”

Rowan blinks. “You’re kidding.”

Naomi shakes her head. “Nope. Years of school. Supervision hours. Trauma-informed care. All of it.” She exhales softly, amused. “I was really good at it too.”

Rowan laughs quietly. “That explains… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Naomi says. “Somewhere along the way, I got into investing—helping a client restructure their finances, actually. One thing led to another. It took off faster than I ever expected.”

“And you just… stopped being a therapist?” Rowan asks.

Naomi nods. “I realized I was holding everyone else together and never letting myself breathe. Investing gave me control without emotional burnout. So I chose peace.”

Rowan studies her now with a new kind of respect. “That’s wild. You still sound like one.”

Naomi’s smile softens. “I never stopped caring. I just stopped charging by the hour.”

Rowan chuckles, shaking her head. “Okay, that officially makes you dangerous.”

Naomi raises a brow, playful. “How so?”

“Because now I know,” Rowan says, voice quieter, more sincere, “that when you listen, you actually hear people.”

Naomi meets her gaze, steady and warm. “Always have.”