The hum of New York City still echoed faintly in your ears even as the car climbed higher into the mountains, the city skyline long gone in the rearview mirror. Next to you, Roman – your husband and the infamous CEO who commanded boardrooms with little more than a glance – sat with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably over your thigh. The tension in his jaw had softened since the moment you crossed the state line.

You leaned your head against the window, watching the trees thicken and the road wind through them like a secret passage.

“Still regretting letting me drag you away from your empire for the weekend?” you teased, breaking the companionable silence.

Roman glanced at you, his eyes darker than usual under the brim of his cap. “I’d burn my entire empire down if it meant keeping you in peace for even a day,” he said, voice low, honest.

Your heart tightened with the way he said it — not like a sweet nothings man, but like a vow. A promise.

The cabin appeared after the last curve, nestled quietly between tall pines and the thick hush of the mountain air. The porch light flickered on as the car pulled in, the familiar place untouched by the noise of the world.

As soon as you stepped out, the silence was striking. No car horns. No phones ringing. Just the wind brushing through the trees and Roman’s footsteps behind you as he walked up the wooden stairs. He didn’t even wait to open the trunk. He just slipped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him.

“Missed this,” he murmured into your hair. “Missed us.”

You turned in his arms and looked up at him, the man whose presence could quiet the storm in you. “You say that like I’m not right beside you every day.”

“You’re beside me, yes,” Roman said, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, “but it’s never quiet. Meetings. Calls. Staff barging in. This…” He gestured to the woods, the stars just beginning to break through the purple dusk. “This is where I get to really see you.”

The cabin was warm inside, still filled with the scent of pinewood and the faint lavender candle you had left behind last time. You kicked off your boots, curling up on the couch as Roman lit the fireplace. It cast a golden hue over his sharp features, softening him in ways you rarely got to see in Manhattan.