Chapter 76: Midnight Confessions
Lisa’s POV
The office seems different after dark.
It’s still the same building, the same walls, the same windows made of glass that mirrors the distant city light, but in the silence of night, you could say everything has been laid bare.
No phones buzzing. No colleagues sauntering past. No voices in the hallway, no footsteps in the distance. Just the quiet buzz of the air conditioner and the occasional blink of the city lights outside the window.
And Leo.
He is seated across from me, his sleeves rolled up, his jacket long since discarded on the back of his chair. The usual harshness he wears like armor seems to have softened in the dim light.
There is something weary about his stance, a gentleness in the way his mouth is set that I've never seen with the day's madness.
We were supposed to have left three hours ago.
But none of us moved.
There are piles of files all around us, reminders of the work we should have been doing. At some point the spreadsheets morphed into pleasantries and the pleasantries into a quiet that was anything but awkward.
It just felt… necessary. "I didn't even realize what time it was," I whisper, looking at the wall clock.
12:47 a.m.
Leo exhales quietly, leaning back in his chair. “Me neither.”
Another silence. This time it weighed even more. Thicker. It’s as if there’s something we’re hiding from one another with, and that something can’t be ignored any longer.
Finally he says, "You should go home," but there is no urgency in his voice. It’s as if he is just saying it.
“So should you.”
A trace of a smile brushes his mouth. “We’re both just as stubborn, I guess.”
I smile back mindlessly and then I quickly look down at some random paper on the desk. My heart is racing for no apparent reason. No argument can be found here. No teasing. No tension built up with sarcasm.
Just the truth, hanging in the air.
“Lisa,” he says my name tentatively, as if it’s delicate. “Can I ask you a question… without you misinterpreting it?”
My hands clench tighter about the pen that I’m grasping. "It depends on what you ask."
“Has this… whole thing ever felt odd to you?”
I look up. “The marriage?”
He nods once.
A humorless laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Every single day, Leo.”
He looks at my face as if he’s reading each and every feeling that I am experiencing. Something about the way he gazes at me is unique this evening. There wasn’t any distance in his eyes. No deliberate facade.
Just Leo.
“I was overwhelmed by it,” he admits quietly. He looks down at his hands, his jaw clenched. “Lost in us. Lost in what we were supposed to be doing together. I told myself it was practical. Necessary. But I don’t know that I ever actually asked you how you felt about it.”
My chest is short of air.
“You were never around long enough to care,” I say softly. Not accusing. It’s Just a Headache — Not The Fact.
He twitches slightly the words obviously hit home. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
That simple statement makes a weird ache run through me.
I shake my head. “I was lonely, Leo. In a house that was meant for me. In a marriage that was just on paper.” My voice shakes.
I stopped expecting things from you because it was less painful than being disappointed.”
He looks up at me quickly now. He looks raw, like he’s been hurt or something. “And now?” he whispers, too softly to be heard.
I swallow. “I just don’t know what to do with the way things are changing.”
A long, brittle silence falls between them. “Neither do I,” he admits.
But he stands. Slowly, cautiously, as if a quick motion would break some invisible string that has joined us tonight. He makes his way around the desk but maintains a respectful distance. Close enough to smell his cologne—warm, familiar—and the lingering hint of coffee still on his shirt.
“You have to be honest with us,” he says. “Even if it makes everything else more complicated.”
I can feel my heart beating harder. ”Then be honest.”
His eyes Lock with mine and never flinch. “I’ve been trying to define when I began to see you differently. More than just… an arrangement. A responsibility. I think it’s been going on for longer than I care to admit.”
My breath catches.
He hesitates. “And I don’t want to be that guy who says he doesn’t feel something when he actually does.”
“Leo…” I barely speak anymore.
“I don’t expect you to have that same answer,” he says, moving a fraction nearer. “But I need to know if the gap between us is real… or if it’s just fright.”
The word sticks between us.
Fear.
The fear of getting hurt again. Fear of hope. Fear of falling love with someone who made promises he couldn’t keep.
But if I’m honest with myself – honest, the very thing he demanded – I know the answer.
“I’m scared,” I confess, my hands shaking a little. “I’ve built walls so high, Leo.” You were the reason I built them in the first place.”
“I know.” His expression softens even more. “And I don’t blame you.” The air is electric. Lively.
“You can’t just erase that with words,” I tell him, even as I feel my body betraying me by tilting an imperceptible degree in his direction.
“I’m not reversing it,” he says in a whisper. “I’m trying to move forward. Even if it’s one slow, cautious step at a time.”
My heart breaks in a way I was not expecting.
“‘And if those steps take you to the wrong place?’” I whisper.
It’s that plain honesty that sells it. Not his looks. Not his voice. Not the silence of the night.
The sincerity. The vulnerability he’s never shown me before.
Before I can stop myself my hand moves to the front of his shirt. A gentle grip. Like reality check.
He stares motionless.
“Lisa…” My name is almost a breath, a confession from his lips.
Nothing but the space of an inch between us.
Slowly, as if to let me get free, he raises his hand to my face. His touch is warm. Gentle. So Tender It Hurts.
I don’t move.
He leans in.
Soft. Doubtful. Real.
His lips were pressed against mine, a silent query, not a command. A kiss wrapped up in apology, yearning, remorse and hope all tangled up in one.
For a moment, the whole world stops existing — there’s no marriage contract, no expectations, no mistakes from the past.
Just this.