**(DONOVAN)**

As soon as I wake up, I sense that something is wrong. It’s a strange feeling that takes over my shoulders and neck, and it certainly has nothing to do with the poor night’s sleep. Groggily, I make my way to the bathroom. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I head towards the bed and grab my phone, which is under the pillow.

My notification bar is congested, which is fairly common. But when I see exactly who has been trying to reach me, I feel time outside freeze, aligning with the unusually low temperature.

Rebecca, my secretary (technically Gavin’s, but she’s worked directly for me over the past few years) has called me three times. Besides her, the manager, the person in charge of publicity and promotion, and other representatives from different branches of Urus have each made at least one call.

Pandemonium. That’s the word my shock- and sleep-dulled mind is desperately trying to find.

I head to the kitchen. While I prepare a strong cup of coffee, I return the calls. Something terrible must have happened, or I wouldn’t be disturbed this way.

Leaning on the counter, I drum my fingers impatiently while waiting for Rebecca to pick up the phone.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**(GAVIN)**

The day dawned cloudy and slightly rainy, giving a break from the real downpour of the previous night. At some point, Amanda moved away from me and is now sleeping in her own corner of the bed. That doesn’t hurt or upset me. I’m fully aware that despite her remarkable recovery, she’s still not a hundred percent. I decide not to wake her, opting instead to take a shower, brush my teeth, and then prepare our coffee.

As the warm water falls on my face, I can’t shake that strange feeling. It was as if I were walking toward the beach, with my back to the sea, and a massive wave was starting to form behind me. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from; this inexplicable fear based on nothing. Still unsettled, I decide to let it go.

Clean and comfortably dressed, I head to the kitchen. I start preparing the coffee, something I’ve been used to doing for months.

Living with Amanda hasn’t taken away my freedom or ruined my privacy, as some might think if they knew about her. Before bringing her here, my life didn’t have much excitement or even a purpose. The only real priority was my course, and my focus was entirely on it.

When Donovan visited, we spent little time in the apartment, prioritizing his house instead. Most of the time, my meals were eaten out, so there was no sense in stocking up on groceries. The guest room was quite basic, and to be honest, I only kept it minimally habitable because you never knew what tomorrow might bring.

My other houses were always in the hands of caretakers and other employees, who ensured that the places didn’t turn into dusty dumps in my absence. A townhouse and a large house, which could be called a mansion, were places I made sure never to visit. Not because I didn’t like them, but because they were far from the center, deliberately placed so I could breathe fresh air outside the city when it was convenient for me.

The smell of coffee spreads through the environment. It’s something extremely simple, but this daily task of waking up, preparing the meal, planning the rest of the day, ensuring Amanda’s routine is good and comfortable... It made me feel accomplished. As if those small acts really made a difference to her, and, forgiving my lack of modesty, I think they did.

Remembering the previous night, the shock of understanding the scars on her back, and all the passion I showed her with gentle touches of my tongue on her belly, my heart races. I felt in every act, every expression on her face, that at least in that moment she wouldn’t object if things heated up further; if the boundary was extended.

I wonder what Dr. Solloman would say about this. I can almost hear his hoarse, deep voice: “Amanda won’t be ready for such physical intimacy for a long time. It’s necessary to severely neutralize the echoes of her trauma, and even then, there’s still a risk. It’s best to talk about it a lot before risking taking such a big step.”

But how could I broach that subject with Amanda? Our days together weren’t exactly stable, and there was no common denominator. Sometimes she was quite receptive to touches, even initiating affectionate gestures, for example. Other times, she made it clear she needed space and would isolate herself, not rudely or harshly, but subtly. She still listened to what I had to say, still talked with me, but made it a point to show she didn’t want any physical contact.

She also tended to immerse herself in reading and writing. Her journal was always on the nightstand, and I confess it was still hard for me not to give in to the temptation of reading it. I knew, just knew, that all the answers to so many questions asked and pondered were likely there. Her sleep routine was regulated, and it was almost impossible for her to wake up early. If I woke up a bit earlier, it would be easy to spend twenty or thirty minutes flipping through the journal.

What made me a bit more eager to snoop into Amanda’s secrets and emotions was also the current situation: the true triangle formed between Donovan, her, and me. The girl trusted me; no wonder she never made any effort to hide where she poured out her thoughts and confessions. And why would she be suspicious? I wasn’t just her host but also one of her saviors. I provided her with a bed, food, comfort, and entertainment. I would never do something like that to her, right?

The feeling of guilt gnaws at me. I might be able to do it; I had the opportunity and a reason. But I couldn’t do that to Amanda. If I broke her trust that way, it would be proven, both to me and to her, that I wasn’t worthy of being in her emotional life, let alone in this real competition. Losing her due to my own stupidity and lack of character was something I wasn’t prepared to face.

When the coffee is finally ready, I start preparing the batter for pancakes. But I interrupt the cooking time, turning off the flame under the pan.

Because my phone is vibrating furiously on the table, and as I approach the caller ID, I see that it’s Donovan.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**(AMANDA)**

When I wake up, I see that Gavin isn’t beside me. It’s cold, and I curl up a bit more under the covers. This crazy city with its temperate climates never stays stable, always oscillating between infernal heat and biting cold. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It should be about 22°C, which for Gavin was probably like California summer. The only certainty I had was that I could never endure the cold of the United States; those sub-zero temperatures and snowstorms.

I smell coffee while keeping my eyes closed. I involuntarily smile at the thought of the handsome blond with blue eyes in an apron, preparing the meal for the girl who made him sigh. The care he had for me was formidable, and it truly warmed my heart.

The previous day was painful, difficult, and it was still hard to process the idea that they finally knew what that horrendous mess on my back was about. However, the memory of Gavin’s warm tongue on my body, gently and without any rush, quickly clouded those more negative feelings.

His ragged breath, the fingers gripping each side of my waist, the sounds coming from his throat, and the way he was completely surrendered to me... That was devotion, even submission, if I were willing to analyze it further. It was a brave act to risk it that way, knowing that I might reject him due to my known and unhappy trauma, but his determination didn’t waver. He seemed certain and convinced that he was doing something good, something to help me. And, well, he was right.

My body arched with each kiss and lick, my nerves danced with the profusion of shivers and other sensations Gavin caused in me. That act, despite its obvious dose of lust, had a much nobler purpose behind it, and that’s why I had allowed it to continue: he was trying to pull me out of the dark cloud that was taking over my mind. He knew some kind of stress was forming, and he didn’t want me on the brink of another nervous breakdown, or even trapped in a nightmare.

That was true feeling, care, and passion in its purest form. I was his priority, his muse, and his... little flower. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was quite touched by that cute nickname. I just didn’t know if I liked it more than Donovan’s “shorty.”

Donovan... I wondered how he was doing now.

When the dark-skinned man with eyes full of tenderness left, I almost ran after him to beg him not to go. I even thought about asking Gavin to let him stay in my room for the night. But that request would imply too many things, such as who I would spend the night with. And no answer would satisfy both; that was obvious. So I bit my tongue and let him go.

I rise slowly and sit on the bed. I let my thoughts stretch a bit more before finally getting up and facing another day.

If Donovan were the one providing me with those physical sensations, would I have accepted? Or would I have pulled away?

I close my eyes.

**(AMANDA)**

Every time I kissed him, I felt in every pore how much he desired me. It seemed like he was holding himself back every time he held me in his lap, smelled my neck, or whispered my name softly, right near my ear. His hands were large, offering both security and something... different.

Donovan had never come close to doing what Gavin did last night. In fact, he held back much more than his friend. I had the sense that he was more rigid on this issue precisely because he knew that once he crossed that line in the sand, there would be no going back. He would assert his dominance, leave his mark. And he would probably risk taking another step, a step I wasn’t remotely ready to take.

I sigh. Both men felt the same way about me, but they showed it in different ways, based on their own personal characteristics. Their concessions, efforts, and understandings were admirable, and I felt incredibly lucky to have them both by my side.

And perhaps a bit guilty for not being able to shorten this process and spare one of them from prolonged suffering.

Summoning my courage, I finally get out of bed. Groggy from sleep and morning laziness, instead of using Gavin’s bathroom, I slowly descend the stairs to use the one on the first floor. But then I hear Gavin’s voice, and I stop in my tracks.

I notice two things at once. The first is that he’s speaking in English, which means he’s talking to Donovan or someone else from his country. The second is the tone he’s using, quite urgent and worried. Gavin is speaking softly, probably to avoid waking me, but I can almost perfectly understand what he’s saying. He’s quite agitated, saying things like “this is outrageous, are you sure about this?” and “I just can’t believe this.”

Taking utmost care to remain silent, I sit on one of the steps and strain my ears. I’m completely focused on what my host is fussing about on the phone.

I can’t make out the details; the regional expressions and the occasional word spoken too quickly – and angrily – in the typical American accent. However, it’s clear that it’s something related to the company, something urgent that could jeopardize a lot. The loss of a certain amount in sector Y, not exactly in those words, but that’s what I managed to understand. Gavin is frustrated because it’s a sudden loss, something that doesn’t even make sense, and this could significantly affect relations with another allied country.

I blink, completely absorbed. He asks many questions, demanding to know when this information was conceived, who decided to back out, and how many people already knew. The CEO of Urus seems to be between shock and anger, trying to understand the problem from every angle before offering a solution, or even presenting one.

I wonder if Donovan is on the other end of the line. If my guess is right, then the vice president is probably just as nervous as Gavin, if not more. After all, for the past few years, he has been behind the scenes at Urus, pulling the strings to ensure everything went smoothly and planning everything down to the last detail. It should be personal for him to receive this blow, this cruel joke of fate.

I remember that something similar happened about two months ago; a problem with someone wanting to leave the company or something like that. How strange that this is happening again. As far as I knew, and I knew very little, my favorite millionaires' company was doing very well, and that gave both of them great pride and satisfaction. How was everything falling apart so quickly?

The last time something of that magnitude happened, Donovan chose to talk to Gavin in person so they could discuss the situation privately and reach a mutual agreement on what to do. But now he opted for a phone call, which could mean anything. Was it so urgent that they couldn’t schedule a time? Or was it less concerning than the previous issue, and therefore didn’t require a face-to-face meeting?

Hearing Gavin’s voice filled with worry is painful. Did we accidentally predict what was to come? Would this be the end of our time together, at least full-time, and would he have to dedicate himself entirely to the board this time?

Upset at not being able to help and saddened by the uncertainty of what the future holds for both of us, I descend the rest of the stairs and head straight for the bathroom. The answers would come once I joined Gavin in the kitchen.