Chapter 7: The Side No One Sees
Ella wasn't used to quiet mornings that weren't heavy.
There was no rush, no bills pressing down her spine, no cracked ceiling dripping onto her pillow. Just the low hum of city noise, the scent of fresh coffee, and the occasional sound of Xavier's voice from his office down the hall.
She sat at the kitchen island, barefoot, hair loose, flipping through a magazine she didn't plan on reading. Not really.
Because lately, her thoughts had a habit of drifting.
And most of them drifted to him.
---
Ava stopped by around noon, like she always did — always punctual, always pressed, like someone operating on a schedule too tight for real emotion.
"There's a KingTech partnership lunch at the Rosewood," she said, placing a schedule folder on the marble counter. "Xavier wants you there. Public appearance. Just smile and let them see the ring."
Ella flipped the folder open. Her photo — the wedding image that had been leaked to the press — stared back at her, printed beside a press blurb titled "The Mysterious Bride Settling into Billionaire Life."
She scoffed. "They make it sound like I'm a villain in a soap opera."
Ava smirked. "You are. A very well-dressed one."
---
The lunch was held on the terrace of the Rosewood, all cream stone and ivy-covered walls. Waitstaff moved like shadows, refilling glasses without a sound. The guests — investors, tech partners, PR sharks — sat like royalty around a long table adorned with white hydrangeas.
Ella arrived five minutes late, on purpose.
Let them look.
Let them wonder.
Xavier stood as she approached, his usual unreadable expression faltering for just a second. Then: a subtle tilt of his head. Approval, maybe. Or something softer, hidden.
He pulled her chair out.
Another shift.
A small one.
But it didn't go unnoticed.
---
She didn't speak much through the first course.
Xavier handled the introductions, the smooth small talk, the strategy. Ella listened. Observed. There was an elegance to how he managed people — never forceful, always composed, letting others think they had the power even as he steered the entire conversation.
She respected that.
Even if it unnerved her.
It made her wonder what part of her life he was steering without her even noticing.
---
"And this must be the famous Ella," said a man from the far end of the table, lifting his glass slightly. "The city's still buzzing."
Ella smiled politely. "I doubt I'm worth all the noise."
"Oh, you are," he said, his tone too smooth, his eyes too curious. "Xavier's never done anything impulsively. That alone makes you fascinating."
Beside her, Xavier's hand stilled on his wine glass.
The man continued. "I'm Ethan Blake. I worked with your husband in Singapore. Years ago."
Ella tilted her head. "You must've seen a very different version of him."
Ethan grinned. "We all had edges back then."
She turned toward Xavier. "Did you?"
He gave the faintest smile. "Some still remain."
It wasn't playful.
It was a warning.
Ethan backed off, but Ella noticed the tension hadn't left Xavier's jaw since the first mention of Singapore.
---
After the lunch ended, Xavier didn't speak until they were inside the car.
"Ethan Blake," he said quietly, more to himself than her.
"You don't like him."
"No. I don't."
Ella looked at him. "Because of business? Or because of the past?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned back in the leather seat, loosening his collar slightly. The tension that had carried him through the lunch finally cracked, slipping out in the silence between them.
"I wasn't always like this," he said after a long pause.
"Like what?"
"Controlled. Predictable. Distant."
She studied him.
"You don't have to convince me you're human, Xavier. I already know."
He looked at her then, eyes darker than usual.
"Do you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Ella didn't answer.
Because she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the man behind the fortress.
Not yet.
---
That evening, she stood on the balcony, arms wrapped around herself as the city lit up beneath her.
She thought about Xavier's expression at lunch — the flicker of protectiveness when Ethan Blake had spoken too familiarly.
Not jealousy.
Something colder. Possessive.
It should've scared her.
But it didn't.
It intrigued her.
---
Later, Xavier found her still out there, barefoot in her slip dress, hair caught in the wind.
"You didn't go to bed," he said quietly.
She didn't look at him. "I couldn't sleep."
He stepped beside her, hands in his pockets.
After a long silence, she asked, "Who were you in Singapore?"
He hesitated.
Then: "Angrier. Wilder. I ran the world like it owed me something."
"Does it?"
He turned to her. "Not anymore."
She nodded, accepting that. "And Claire?"
His jaw flexed. "She met me at the worst time. And stayed long enough to make it worse."
Ella looked at him, really looked.
He wasn't the man the tabloids described — ruthless, invincible, unbothered.
He was built from damage.
So was she.
Maybe that's why this strange arrangement hadn't shattered yet.
They weren't whole.
But they were surviving.
---
They didn't speak again that night.
But when he left the balcony, she followed ten minutes later, her footsteps softer, more thoughtful.
And before she closed her door, she glanced toward his down the hall.
Just once.
Long enough to wonder…
If maybe, someday, she'd see that wilder version of him.
Not
in anger.
But in Love.