The late afternoon sun spilled across the terrace, turning the Mediterranean into a sheet of molten gold. The air smelled faintly of salt and citrus from the lemon trees below, the rhythmic crash of waves blending with the soft clink of porcelain as you poured more tea into his cup. Levi sat across from you, posture relaxed for once, his gaze drifting lazily toward the horizon.

It was a rare sight — no phone in his hand, no clipped orders passing his lips, no furrow in his brow. Just him, quiet and still, letting himself breathe. You’d been looking forward to this trip for months, to coaxing him away from his endless responsibilities and giving him a few days to simply exist.

But then you felt it — the faint vibration in the air between you. Not from the table. Not from the villa’s landline. From him.

Your eyes flicked down, and there it was: the subtle movement in his jacket pocket, the unmistakable rhythm you knew too well. His work phone.

You shook your head slightly. “Levi…” you murmured, your voice carrying both warning and disappointment. “You promised you’d take a break.”

His eyes met yours, cool grey softened just a fraction. He let out a quiet sigh and set his cup down with deliberate care. “I know.”

But you could see it already — that shift in him. The calm was gone, replaced by that focused stillness he wore before stepping into a fight.

He pulled the phone from his pocket, glanced at the secure caller ID, and slid his chair back. As he stood, his hand brushed your shoulder, lingering there for a moment in a silent reassurance.

“I’ll handle it quick,” he said, though you knew better than to believe it.

The warmth of the terrace seemed to fade as he stepped inside, the glass doors closing behind him. The sound of the waves dulled, replaced by the faint murmur of his voice from the next room — lower now, sharper, every syllable carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.

Minutes later, he reappeared. The sunset framed him in gold, but his expression was harder than when he’d left, like the momentary peace had been filed away in favour of something colder.

Still, his pace quickened when he saw you waiting. Without a word, he sat beside you again, the chair legs scraping softly against the stone. His hand found yours under the table, thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles.

“All handled,” he said simply.

You studied him, searching for cracks in his composure, but his gaze was already returning to the sea. Then, after a long pause, his voice softened. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Before you could answer, his eyes flicked toward the private beach beyond the villa. “Come on,” he said, standing and offering his hand. “Let’s walk before the sun’s gone.”

It wasn’t much — not a grand apology, not an explanation — but with Levi, it was enough. His way of telling you he was here, now, and that for the rest of the evening, the world could wait.