At thirty years old, I had somehow become the one person my family could always agree on.

Miles didn't take me to a high-end restaurant or an exclusive club.

He drove me forty minutes outside the city, deep into the rolling hills of upstate New York, until the concrete and steel gave way to towering pine trees and winding dirt roads.

We pulled up to an old, beautiful wooden cabin situated on the edge of a serene, glass-like lake. Parked in the driveway was a vintage, half-restored 1968 Chevrolet pickup truck, covered in a light dust sheet.

"This is my grandfather's place," Miles said, cutting the engine of his luxury SUV. "No reporters. No board members. No phone calls. Just quiet."

I stepped out of the car, inhaling the fresh, crisp scent of pine and damp earth. The quiet was almost absolute, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the summer breeze and the gentle lapping of water against the wooden dock.

"It's breathtaking, Miles," I murmured, stepping toward the edge of the lake.

"He built it with his own hands in the seventies," Miles said, walking up beside me. "When things got too loud in the city, he would come up here, put on his old clothes, and build furniture. He used to say that wood doesn't lie. If you cut it wrong, it won't fit. You can't pretend a joint is strong if it's rotten inside."

He looked down at me, his dark eyes filled with a deep, contemplative stillness.

"That’s why I took his truck to Connecticut yesterday," Miles confessed. "I was trying to find that truth again. I thought I was just going to sit in a coffee shop and feel sorry for myself. I had no idea I was going to find you."

I felt a flutter in my stomach, a sudden, warm radiance that spread through my chest.

"Miles... what happened back there, with my family..." I started, looking out over the water. "It all moved so fast. A fake date turned into a corporate execution. I feel like I've dragged you into my mess."

"Dragged me?" Miles laughed softly, a low, rich sound. "Serena, you gave me a reason to fight. For months since my grandfather died, I've been running on autopilot. Managing the corporation, dealing with greedy board members, keeping up appearances. I felt completely numb."

He took a step closer, reaching out to take both of my hands in his.

"When I stood beside you yesterday—when I saw your intelligence, your quiet grace, and the fierce dignity you maintained even while being attacked by the people who should have loved you—I felt alive again. You didn't drag me into anything. You saved me from drowning in my own life."

I looked up into his eyes, searching the intense depth of his gaze. "I'm just a financial analyst, Miles. My life isn't glamorous. My family is a disaster."

"I don't care about your family," Miles said fiercely, his thumb tracing the back of my hand. "And you aren't 'just' anything. You are brilliant. You are strong. You are the most captivating woman I have ever met."

My breath hitched.

Slowly, deliberately, Miles reached up, his large, warm hand cradling the side of my face. His touch was incredibly gentle, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned down, his eyes lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze once more, silently asking for permission.

I leaned up on my tiptoes, closing the small distance between us.

When his lips met mine, it wasn't a rushed, desperate kiss. It was deep, slow, and breathtakingly tender. The lingering pain of the morning, the stress of the scandal, the dark shadows of my past—all of it melted away into the warm, consuming reality of his mouth against mine.

He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist, holding me against him as if I were the most precious thing in the world. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his dark hair, giving myself over completely to the feeling of being wanted, respected, and cherished.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing heavily, Miles rested his forehead against mine.

"That didn't feel like acting," he whispered, a breathless, handsome grin spreading across his face.

"It wasn't," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in days. "The contract is officially canceled."

"Good," Miles murmured, kissing my forehead softly. "Because I'm playing for keeps now."

His phone, resting inside his jacket pocket on the porch table, began to chime softly, signaling that our brief sanctuary in time was coming to an end. The press conference was approaching.

Miles sighed, pulling back slightly, though he kept one hand anchored comfortably on my waist. "Duty calls."