Her answer lingered longer than he expected. Usually, women in his life reflected his power or served to please him. Aaliyah carried neither. Only dignity.
As she worked, Dominic noticed her reflection in the polished marble. For the first time in years, he was not drawn to her body but to her presence. To the way she hummed softly under her breath, a tune reminiscent of lullabies his mother once sang. He felt no need for control. He felt observed. Seen.
Weeks passed, and Aaliyah returned on her regular schedule. Dominic pretended to work in his study, yet every sound—the clatter of dishes, the soft laughter from her phone conversations—pulled him toward her. He began asking small questions about her life, her child, her dreams. She answered politely but kept a careful distance.
One night, a sudden blackout trapped them in the penthouse. City lights flickered below, and Aaliyah moved to the window. “It is beautiful,” she murmured. “But lonely up here, is it not?”
Dominic froze. No one had ever acknowledged the emptiness that gnawed at him. She saw it without judgment.