Clara’s POV

Night – My Balcony

London looked like it had finally exhaled.

The wind brushed lightly through my robe, fingers cool against the side of my neck. I tucked my knees to my chest, balancing my wine glass on the edge of the lounger, phone glowing faintly beside it.

From here, the city was just lights and hush taxis like drifting stars, laughter somewhere down the street, but not close enough to touch.

I’d said all I needed today.

The MajorTech meeting was behind me.

Mr Langston had nodded that deliberate, thoughtful nod that felt more intimate than praise. And though the applause hadn’t followed, the silence in that boardroom was heavy with approval.

Still, something in me remained unsatisfied.

just then Maya's message popped.

Maya: “God. You always get the drama.”

Me: “But I didn’t do much. I just used the flip chart. Spoke calmly. Everyone stayed locked in.”

Maya: “And Langston?”

Me: “He said Good leadership is quiet until tested. You’ve got something here, Ms. Monroe.’”

Maya: “He called you Ms. Monroe? Like a queen?”

Me: “He calls everyone that.”

Maya: “Still. I would have fainted. Did you faint?”

Me: “No. But I might’ve blinked dramatically.”

She sent a series of “exploding brain” emojis, followed by one that looked like someone swooning.

Maya: “Okay, no offense, but I’m cancelling all my weekend plans. We need to debrief properly. Champagne, brunch, something sinful.”

Me: “That’s Saturday. You promised. No work talk, no shoes.”

Maya: “Correction: no shoes, but yes to toasts. I’m still recovering from this Langston thing. You’re making us all look bad.”

I laughed, leaned back, and let the air wrap around me.

Maya had a way of making big moments feel light, less loaded. If I were being honest, she was the only person I wanted to talk to tonight.

Except him.

And I hated that.

Damien had texted earlier a short message at 5:08 p.m.:

“Thank you for the good work.”

Clean. Precise. Predictable.

Not what I had secretly hoped for.

Not romantic. Not even personal. Just... professional.

Which made what happened next harder to swallow.

My phone buzzed again a tone I couldn’t mistake.

Damien.

“Check the box.”

I sat up a little.

My stomach tightened before I could stop it.

I hadn’t touched the box since he gave it to me Friday afternoon, in his office. He’d called me in under the guise of a final pre-trip file review, then quietly slid it across the desk.

A small black velvet box, no ribbon, no card.

Just his voice, low and clear:

“You’ll know when to open it.”

Then, Tuesday morning, he was gone Zurich. Meetings, deals, something about the board.

Everyone knew. Including me.

Still… I’d waited. For a word. Something personal.

But that afternoon text had felt like someone clapping through a windowpane.

Now?

Now this?

“Check the box.”

“Now?”

I didn’t text that. I just stood up, crossed the quiet apartment, and opened my drawer.

The box was still there.

Still untouched.

I brought it out to the balcony, hands strangely unsteady.

Maya: “Don’t ghost me. I’m not done bragging on you.”

Me: “Hold on. I’ll call you back in a few.”

Maya: “Ugh. Fine. Be mysterious then.”

I set the phone down.

Opened the box.

And inhaled slowly.

Inside lay a necklace.

No. Not a necklace. A statement.

The gold was soft, thin like it had been melted and reformed to whisper. At the center, a pendant: black diamond, oval-cut, polished to quiet perfection, surrounded by a thin ring of sapphire dust. Subtle. Stunning.

Expensive.

Deliberate.

Beneath it, a single folded card.

Damien’s handwriting was unmistakable — controlled, masculine, each letter shaped like it was used to giving orders.

Clara,

This isn’t about elegance.

It’s about gravity.

Some things belong close to the skin — to remind you how much you carry, and how you do it without collapsing.

– D.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Damien: “You opened it.”

Me: “Yes.”

Damien: “Do you like it?”

Me: “It’s... heavier than I expected.”

Damien: “Good.”

I swallowed.

This wasn’t what I had expected today. Not from him. Not after the meeting. Not after the way I had quietly wanted him to say something real.

But this?

This was real. Just not loud.

I placed the necklace around my neck, clipped it, and felt the cool weight land against my collarbone.

Not flashy. Not meant to dazzle.

But it pulled at me all the same.

Me: “How was Zurich?”

Damien: “Loud. Cold. Too many opinions. I missed the quiet.”

Me: “You missed the office?”

Damien: “I missed you in it.”

I blinked. Sat back down.

Damien: “I saw the photos from the board.”

Damien: “You didn’t just deliver. You stood. You filled the room.”

Me: “I did what needed to be done.”

Damien: “You always do.”

I touched the pendant lightly.

Me: “Why did you wait until tonight to say all this?”

Damien: “Because if I’d said it earlier, you would’ve looked for the catch.”

Me: “And now?”

Damien: “Now you know there isn’t one.”

I couldn’t text back right away. I stared at the quiet pendant and wondered how someone who said so little could make me feel so much.

Then:

Damien: “Wear it sunday,I will be back on weekend”

Me: “To the cinema?”

Damien: “To dinner.”

I hesitated.

Damien: “8:00 p.m. sharp. You know the place.”

Damien: “Don’t be late, Monroe.”

My smile came slowly.

I picked up my phone, typed:

Me: “I’ll wear it. And heels.”

He replied with a single word.

Damien: “Good.”

And just when I thought that would be the end of it, he added:

Damien: “I want to see what gravity looks like... when it’s dressed to kill.”

I set the phone down. Laughed once, softly.

Then I looked at the city again. London still shimmered, unaware that something had shifted inside me.

Damien had given me something romantic tonight.

All I could think off after our chat ended was his touch and the imaginary "I love you" whisper in my ears .