It’s 7:14 p.m. and you’re still at the firm, staring at the door to Harvey’s office.

No flowers. No champagne. Not even a goddamn text.

You told yourself you wouldn’t expect anything — you’re both senior name partners, both buried in a triple-merger, and you knew better than to think Harvey Specter did romance like everyone else.

But still. One year.

And nothing?

You blink away the sting behind your eyes and shut your office door harder than necessary. Fine. You’ll go home. Maybe open a bottle of wine. Watch a documentary and pretend it doesn’t matter.

You grab your coat. Make it to the elevator. And just as the doors slide shut—

“Hold it.”

The voice slices through your mood.

Harvey steps in. No tie. Collar open. A look in his eye like he knows something you don’t.

You glance sideways. “Busy day?”

“Productive,” he says, pressing the ground floor. “You heading out?”

“Unless you need something,” you say coolly.

He doesn’t respond. Not with words.

Just slips something into your hand.

You glance down. A brass hotel keycard. One of the old-school luxury ones.

Room 1917.

You stare at him, but his face is unreadable. The doors open, and he steps out.

“Don’t be late,” he says over his shoulder.

—

The penthouse is candlelit.

Harvey’s there in a tailored black suit, sleeves rolled, leaning against the marble bar with two glasses of bourbon already poured. Miles Davis plays on vinyl. The windows overlook the skyline.

You don’t know what to say.

“I thought you forgot.”

He looks you up and down — slow and sinful. You wore the dress he liked. You didn’t even realize you’d chosen it until now.

“Forget our anniversary?” he murmurs. “That’s not very Specter of me.”

You scoff softly, stepping closer. “This is a setup.”

“Of course it is,” he says. “You’re not the only one who plans around here.”

He slides a black velvet box across the bar. “Open it.”

Inside: a custom necklace. A charm shaped like a chess queen. Rose gold.

You lift it slowly, voice softer now. “A queen?”

“I already made partner,” he says. “You’re the only promotion I want now.”

Your breath catches.

Then his hands are on your waist. His lips brush your jaw, your ear, your neck.

And just like that, you’re speechless — just like he planned.