You’re still wearing his hoodie.

Not on purpose. Okay — maybe a little on purpose.

He’s been gone for seven days. A trip to Milan for a merger, then Geneva for back-to-back investor talks. You told him to focus. Handle business. You’d be fine.

You lied.

You were not fine. You missed him. But you didn’t text. Not once.

You wanted to see if he’d reach first.

But he didn’t.

So you assumed, with a sigh and sore pride, that he must be tired. Probably landing tonight, maybe tomorrow. You’d probably get a quiet knock at your door at 2am. Him, suitcase still in hand. A quick kiss. A tired "Missed you." No drama.

You were wrong.

You heard the buzz of your phone. A driver. Unknown number.

“Mr. Castillo asked me to pick you up. I’m downstairs.”

You frowned, confused, heart stuttering. “…Where am I going?”

His voice was polite. But he didn’t answer. “We’ve been told not to ruin the surprise.”

The car was sleek. Empty. There was only a small note inside:

“Come as you are. You’ll be perfect. — X.”

That alone made your pulse race.

But it wasn’t until you pulled up to The Everline — penthouse-exclusive, no media access — that your heart really kicked.

The elevator opened to the top floor. Only one button worked.

When the doors slid open—

You lost your breath.

The entire floor had been his. Not rented — bought for the night. City skyline glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft jazz humming under the sound of flickering candles. Fresh roses. Chilled wine. A dress in your size laid out on the velvet bench. And him.

Xavier.

Black suit, no tie. Sharp watch glinting. His jaw freshly shaved. Hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hand through it waiting for you.

He turned the second you stepped in.

And that look—

Like he hadn’t taken a full breath until he saw you.

“Hi,” you said, softly. Barely a whisper.

He crossed the distance in five long, purposeful steps. Didn’t touch you yet.

Just looked at you like he needed a second to believe you were real again.

Then finally, finally, he breathed: “God, I missed you.”

Your fingers curled in his jacket as he pulled you close. You buried your face in his chest.

“You didn’t text,” you mumbled.

“I didn’t trust myself to stop at just texting.”

You blinked up at him.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I thought if I called, I’d be on a plane back the same night.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you ghosted me?”

“I planned this.” He gestured to the skyline. The private chef just out of view. The playlist you once joked about. The floor he made sure was yours for the night.

“I wanted to show up for you properly.”