The buzz from their public appearance hadn't quite faded, but as the elevator doors closed and silence wrapped around them, Anne felt the air shift.
She glanced at Rayden, who stood with his hands tucked in his pockets, expression unreadable. No teasing glint in his eyes. No warmth. Just cool silence.
The moment they stepped into the penthouse, Anne's heels echoed against the marble floor. She paused near the living room, biting her lip. Maybe it was foolish, but part of her had hoped the magic would carry on a little longer.
"Rayden," she said quietly.
He stopped mid-step, turning slightly.
"I… Can we talk?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
He studied her for a second before nodding. "Alright."
They sat across from each other on the long couch, a noticeable space between them. Anne fiddled with her fingers.
"I submitted a script," she said suddenly, surprising even herself.
Rayden blinked. "What?"
She exhaled slowly. "A few weeks ago. To a production house. Just… a script I wrote back in school. I didn't expect much. But they reached out. They want to work with me."
Rayden sat up straighter. "You're taking a job?"
She nodded. "It's freelance. I know I don't have to work, not now. But I want to. Writing is something I've always dreamed about, and it feels like… if I don't do this, I'll regret it."
He frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Anne looked away. "Because I wasn't sure if it would lead anywhere. And maybe… I didn't want to hear you say no."
Rayden crossed his arms. "You do realize the media is watching our every move, right? If they find out the wife of Rayden Lancaster is working for some indie film company—"
"Noctura Studio," Anne interrupted gently.
His words stalled. "Noctura?"
She nodded again.
Rayden blinked, stunned. "As in the Noctura Studio?"
Anne gave a tiny smile. "Yes."
He leaned back, looking as though he was reevaluating the entire conversation. "They don't just work with anyone. They rejected my company's proposal last year. How the hell did you…"
"I guess they liked my story."
A long silence passed before he finally exhaled. "Fine. But if I need you—for appearances, events, interviews—you drop everything."
"Of course," she said quickly. "Thank you."
———
The next day, Anne wandered through the Veldarra Central Library. She ran her fingers over the spines of old paperbacks, a sense of peace washing over her. Even with all the wealth and luxury now surrounding her, the comfort of borrowed books was something she couldn't give up.
In the quiet reading area, a loud thud broke the silence. She peeked over the shelf to see an older man—around his sixties—struggling to gather books that had fallen from the upper rack.
Anne rushed over. "Let me help you."
"Ah, thank you, dear," the man said, chuckling with embarrassment. "These arms aren't what they used to be."
They stacked the books together. After a few exchanged pleasantries, Anne returned to her seat.
But as she stepped out of the library, the same man was waiting by the entrance, holding a small cooler box.
"Here," he said with a warm smile. "Yogurt. Homemade. Good for your stomach."
"Oh—thank you, but you don't have to—"
"I insist," he said. Beside him stood a petite woman with silver-streaked hair and a sharp but kind gaze.
"My wife," the man added. "We own a small ice cream shop downtown. Come by sometime, will you?"
Anne blinked, a soft recognition dawning. "Wait… are you the owners of Gelato & Bloom?"
"You've been there?" the woman smiled.
"I have," Anne grinned. "It was lovely."
The woman beamed. "Then next time, ice cream's on us."
———
Over cups of hot tea at a quiet little café tucked between rows of artisan shops, Anne found herself relaxing in a way she hadn't in a long time. The wooden chairs creaked under their weight, and the subtle scent of baked scones mingled with the aroma of steeping jasmine.
Across the table, Mr. and Mrs. Jun sat with warm eyes and patient smiles. There was something comforting in their presence—like the kind of warmth that wrapped around your shoulders on a cold day, asking nothing in return.
"I lost my mom to brain cancer," Anne said softly, her fingers curling around the ceramic cup. "It was… a slow goodbye. She smiled until the very end. And my dad—he wasn't strong enough to live without her."
A silence followed, but it wasn't heavy. It was respectful. Understanding.
Mrs. Jun reached over to refill Anne's cup with a careful hand. "You must've been very young when it happened."
"I was sixteen," Anne nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Old enough to understand everything, but... too young to carry it all."
Mr. Jun leaned forward, his voice gentle. "And yet, you're still standing."
Anne's eyes grew glassy. "Some nights, it doesn't feel like I am. I live in a beautiful place now… but it's so quiet. Too quiet. You know the kind of silence that doesn't soothe, but suffocates?"
Mrs. Jun's eyes softened. "Yes. I do."
For a moment, the ticking of the small clock behind the counter filled the space between them.
"I guess I just miss feeling like I belong somewhere," Anne whispered.
Mrs. Jun reached across the table and placed her hand gently over Anne's. Her palm was warm, steady. "Then let us be your somewhere—even if just for tea and quiet afternoons."
Anne blinked, startled by the tears that welled up so easily. No one had said that to her in years. No one had offered her a piece of their heart without asking for anything in return.
"Thank you," she managed, voice tight with emotion.
The golden light of the sunset spilled across the table, bathing their faces in a quiet glow. For the first time in a long time, Anne didn't feel like an outsider. She felt… seen.
"You remind me of someone we wished we had," she said softly. "If you don't mind, would you join us for dinner this weekend? At our home. And bring your partner too."
Anne hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I'd love to."
Back at the penthouse that evening, Anne relayed the invitation. Rayden looked up from his laptop, brow furrowed.
"Dinner with strangers?"
"They're not strangers. They're… kind. And they own that gelato place you liked."
"I didn't like it," he muttered. "Brian did."
Anne narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm going. You don't have to come."
"Good," he said. Then paused. "Are you going alone? Be careful on your way—"
"No. I'll ask Brian to come with me."
Rayden looked up sharply. "You'll what?"
"I don't want to show up alone."
A tense silence. Then he shut his laptop with more force than necessary.
"I'll come."
Anne blinked. "Really?"
"You think I'll let you parade around with Brian like that?"
She smiled to herself but said nothing.
"Don't get me wrong, media are on us right now."
"I know." Anne chuckled a little.
———
The evening of the dinner came quickly. Anne dressed in a soft cream blouse tucked into navy slacks, paired with a matching blazer and nude heels. Rayden, fresh from work, only removed his blazer and loosened his tie.
They arrived at a cozy, ivy-covered home just outside the city.
Anne rang the bell.
The door swung open—and Mr. Jun froze.
"Rayden Lancaster?"
Rayden straightened, equally surprised. "Mr. Jun?"
Anne looked between them, completely lost.
"You two… know each other?"