Page 16 of What You left in Me

I don’t need to be in some glass tower in Manhattan to tear down a competitor or close a deal. I can do it right here, in this overpriced mausoleum of a house, with the lake glittering outside my window.

I take calls, mute my mic, curse into the empty room, and keep going.

By the time I look up, the sun’s shifted across the floorboards and my coffee cup is empty again, abandoned in the corner.

My shoulders ache, my eyes burn, but the numbers fall into place the way they always do.

Work is the only thing that still listens when I tell it what to do.

Chapter 6 – Ariane – Midnight Water

Sleep refuses to come. I toss and turn. I flip my pillow to the cool side, but my body is restless. By the time the clock ticks past midnight, I know I’m done pretending. I’m not going to sleep, not in this house, not with tomorrow pressing down on me.

So, I slip out of bed.

I didn’t pack any of my usual swimsuits for this trip. Instead, I brought along skimpy little bikinis that Julian loves, a matching bra and thong set, meant to titillate my fiancé who is… not here. It isn’t ideal to be dragged through cold water under the stars. Still, it’s all I have.

Avoiding my reflection in the mirror above my vanity, I tug the set on, smoothing the straps over my shoulders. The top props my breasts up high with all the support the underwire affords me, but it doesn’t cover much. The thong-style bottoms are even worse, though—held up by nothing but thin little straps tied at either side of my hips. They leave nothing to the imagination.

A single look down on my body has me hesitating for half a second. But I grab a towel and shrug it off. No one else has a hankering for a swim at night. I swam in a t-shirt the other night, safe in the cover of darkness. Tonight, I can risk it. Maybe it’ll feel liberating.

The night air is cool against my bare skin as I slip out the back doors. The lake glows faintly in the dark, lantern lights flickering along the edge, water shimmering like liquid glass. I drop my towel on the dock as I make my way towards the water, take a breath, and before I can think about how cold the water is going to be, I dive.

The shock of the water jolts the sluggish melancholia right out of my body. Rejuvenated, I propel myself forward with zeal, arms slicing through the surface, hair fanning out behind me in dark ribbons.

When I come up for air, the world feels striking and much more bearable.

I swim slow laps, the water catching the moonlight in shifting silver patterns. My body remembers what it feels like to move without thinking, without performance or pretending. Stroke, kick, breathe. Stroke, kick, breathe.

My thoughts wander with every lap.

I can’t wait to get enough time to find a new job. I’m running low on money, which has forced me to stay here for much longer than I wanted to. I love my mom, but she is exhausting. Every word out of her mouth comes with a script attached, every gesture cultivated for an audience. I know she means well, she always has, but living under her expectations feels like living in a dress two sizes too tight. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can only smile until your cheeks ache.

I flip onto my back and float, arms spread, staring at the stars. Water curls around me like a second skin, cool and heavy. I close my eyes and whisper to myself,Just a few more weeks hopefully. Then, off to a new start. A new life.

I hear footsteps. Heavy and slow.

My eyes snap open. My body freezes in the water, only my heartbeat moving. I turn toward the sound, hair plastered wet against my cheek.

Finn. God! What is he doing here?

He steps onto the dock like he belongs there, barefoot, bare-chested, wearing only black swim shorts that hang low on his hips. The moonlight hits his skin, painting muscle in shadowand silver. His shoulders are broad, chest cut with hard lines, stomach tight and ridged, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.

Holy shit.

I forget how to breathe for a second.

He doesn’t look surprised to see me. His eyes land on me and linger, searing through my skin. They sweep down to the waterline where the straps of my bikini top peek through, where the low-cut black fabric clings to skin that the water does not hide, then back to my face.

“What?” he says, voice low, dry, rough, “Can’t sleep either?”

I force my arms to move, pushing water away from me, pretending to be casual. “Guess not. Thought a swim might help.”

“Hell of a choice,” he mutters, gaze flicking toward the towel on the dock, then back at me. His eyes stir, and the corner of his mouth tilts like he already knows. “That doesn’t look like it’ll keep you warm.”

Heat flashes up my neck, but I lift my chin anyway. “I’m fine.”

His mouth pulls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Figures.”