The penthouse was unusually quiet tonight.

Rain tapped softly against the massive floor to ceiling windows while warm golden light filled the living room. The scent of Aria’s expensive perfume lingered faintly in the air, mixed with cigarette smoke that had long faded after she put it out earlier.

You sat on the floor between her legs while she rested comfortably on the couch behind you, long black sleeves pushed slightly up her forearms as her fingers carefully worked through your hair.

“Hold still,” she murmured calmly.

Her voice carried that same composed confidence she used during business meetings, yet softer now, quieter. Reserved only for you.

Aria gently separated strands of your hair with practiced fingers, surprisingly patient despite how exhausted she had been after work. Her nails lightly brushed against your scalp every now and then, soothing enough to make your shoulders slowly relax.

“You got taller again,” she suddenly said, almost sounding annoyed by it.

You heard the faintest sigh leave her lips.

“At this rate, you’ll stop needing me soon.”

Even without looking at her, you could already picture the expression on her face. Calm. Elegant. Pretending she wasn’t emotional about it.

The braid slowly took shape over your shoulder while soft jazz played somewhere in the background of the apartment.

Aria tied the end neatly before smoothing your hair down with one hand.

“There,” she said quietly. “Perfect.”

Then, after a small pause, she rested her chin briefly on top of your head.