Chapter Seventy Nine

Chapter Seventy Nine
Athena
Eros inhaled sharply, like my forgiveness had struck something deep within him. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

I reached out, took his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Something shifted between us that day. Our once-strained working relationship began to evolve. From that moment on, it wasn’t just about surviving the same company anymore—it was about rebuilding from the wreckage of everything that had once kept us apart.

In the days that followed, Eros began to change. The sharpness in his tone dulled. The guarded looks turned into quiet acknowledgments. And slowly—deliberately—he started to bring me in more. 

He invited me to executive meetings where my presence wasn’t strictly necessary, asked for my opinion even when no one else would’ve thought to.

Then came the trips.

“We leave for Milan next week,” he announced one morning during a project review.

I arched my brow. “We?”

“Yes." He replied without hesitation. "You’re coming with me.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “There’s no reason for me to be on that trip, Eros. You could take Damon—”

“I don’t want Damon,” he cut in. “I want you.”

The way he said it made my heartbeat falter.

“For business,” he added quickly, though his eyes told another story.

I crossed my arms. “This is the third trip this month. You're making it a habit.”

“I told you,” he said, the corners of his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I work better with you around.”

I eyed him, uncertain. “This isn’t pity, is it?”

His smile was brief, almost reluctant. “No. It’s respect. Maybe even something more. But for now—let’s call it progress.”

And just like that, I found myself flying with him—first to Milan, then Prague, then Dubai. Always seated beside him in meetings, always sharing long, thoughtful conversations over hotel breakfasts. I didn’t know what Eros hoped to achieve by taking me everywhere.

But I wasn’t complaining. Because every trip wasn’t just about work—he made time to show me his favorite places, took me sightseeing, and made sure we dined at the best local spots.

Not everyone was pleased.

Least of all Damon Kline. And especially not my husband, Lysander, whom I saw less and less. It felt like we were housemates drifting in separate worlds. He had his life, and I had mine. The conversations faded until silence became our norm.

“You’re making a mistake,” Damon said one afternoon after Eros rejected his acquisition pitch in favor of mine—a company most saw as a sinking ship.

“I don’t recall asking for your approval,” Eros replied, cool and unshaken.

“She’s clouding your judgment.”

“She’s sharpening it,” Eros said, his voice cutting through the room with finality.

I overheard the exchange from the hallway, on my way to remind Eros about his lunch meeting with a CEO. My heart felt heavy. Damon’s resentment wasn’t just professional—it was personal.

But what neither of them acknowledged was this: I hadn’t asked for any of this attention. I’d only earned it.

That night, in the stillness of our shared suite, I glanced at Eros as he read through a report.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “Doing what?”

“Bringing me everywhere. Putting me in rooms I was never meant to be in.”

Finally, he met my gaze. “Because I see you now. And I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you again.” He paused, exhaling. “Let’s just say I’ve never met, or worked with a more brilliant executive assistant like you. I want every idea in that head of yours to belong to us. You’re going places.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to believe in the sincerity of his words—or in the future he seemed to be building around me.

But at that moment, none of it mattered.

Because the man who once blamed me for everything was now the one who trusted me with everything.

And that… was a beginning.

Two weeks later
When I woke up that morning, I knew Lysander hadn’t come home the night before.

I’d just returned from yet another trip with Eros—this time to Brazil—and the house had been empty when I got in. No note, no text, no sign he’d even thought about coming home. I called him out of habit, but it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother waiting up.

It was my birthday.

Normally, Lysander would wake me with a cupcake and a horribly off-key birthday song. It was the one tradition we somehow managed to keep. But that morning, there was nothing. Not even a text. The silence stung more than I cared to admit.

Then, just when the disappointment threatened to settle in, my phone buzzed. A message from Meredith: Happy birthday, beautiful. Let me steal you for dinner tonight?

I smiled.

I told her I couldn’t. Eros had requested my presence at a dinner party and—like most things with him lately—it wasn't optional. We made plans for lunch instead, and I headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Later, I stood in the kitchen, spreading jam on my toast when I heard the front door open and close. A second later, Lysander walked into the kitchen through the archway, stopping short when he saw me. Surprise flickered across his face before he masked it with practiced indifference.

“Good morning,” I said calmly.

“Morning.” His reply was clipped. He moved to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and twisted off the cap.

“When did you get back?” he asked, his tone disinterested, as though my arrival was of little consequence.

“Last night. I called.” I answered. "Tough day yesterday?"

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Long day yesterday.” He took a sip of water. “I’ll go take a shower.”

And just like that, he walked out—no kiss, no hug, no birthday wish. Nothing.

I stood there, heart pounding with quiet fury, staring at my half-made toast. I wanted to scream, to throw the jam jar across the room, to demand why he was acting like I didn’t exist.

But I didn’t. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to calm down. Maybe he’d just had a bad day. This was the first time he’d acted this cold on my birthday. I’d let it slide. Just this once.

Eros had told me weeks ago that I no longer needed to stop by his place so we could drive to work together. I’d appreciated that—my place was a two-hour drive from Villa Isadora—so I made it to the office by 6:55, coffee in hand, and was seated at my desk by 7:00.

The door to his office opened suddenly, making me jump. Eros stepped out, looking like he’d stepped straight off the cover of a fashion magazine. He wore a burgundy three-piece suit, a crisp white shirt, a navy tie, and polished black Oxfords.

“Good morning, Athena,” he said, voice smooth and warm.

“Good morning, Mr. Belmonte,” I replied, standing to hand him his coffee.

He took it with a small nod and brought the cup to his lips. He moaned softly after the first sip, eyes fluttering shut. “That woke me up.”

“Did you sleep here?” I asked, raising a brow.

“No. I just came in early.” He turned to go back into his office, and I followed, shutting the door behind me.

I was about to ask what time he arrived when I noticed them—a bouquet of red roses sitting on his desk, vibrant and impossibly beautiful. The color was so rich, I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

“They’re yours,” Eros said, picking up the bouquet and walking over to me. “Happy birthday, Athena.”

My heart skipped a beat.

He remembered.