“I believe they already are.”
That made him smile a little wider. “You’re good at this. Not just the data. Thevision. The leadership.”
Sabine studied him. Really studied him.
The way he stood—calm, confident, expensive in a quiet way. That usual stillness he carried with him. That low, focused voice he only ever used when he wanted her full attention. His eyes were dark and steady, but there was something else behind them today—something leaning closer than usual. Something deliberate.
And she felt it.
The shift. The question forming between them before it even left his mouth.
“Why do I feel like you’re trying to say something?”
“Because I am,” Harlan said, then waited just a moment. “Dinner. Just you and me.”
Her pulse kicked. Hard. Not from fear. Not from thrill. Just from surprise—because she’d known.
Not in any overt way. Not from anything he said or did but in the space between meetings. In the ease of their interactions. The way he always looked at her like she was already seated at a table no one else knew existed.
He made room for her.
Hesawher.
But Sabine wasn’t new to attention. She’d had love before. She’d had obsession, adoration, affection. She’d had a man love her so fiercely that he burned their whole house down with it. She’d had her heart broken in the name of “I’m trying.”
She had to be careful now.
“Dinner?” she echoed, soft but skeptical. Buying time. Not giving it away too easy.
“Not to talk equity,” he clarified, stepping closer but not too close. “Not to talk rollout timelines, not even to celebrate. Just…dinner. With you.”
This man knew how to speak in italics.
Sabine swallowed.
She wanted to say no.
So badly she wanted to say no.
Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe the woman she was becoming, the version of herself who built Aderra from heartbreak and grit and stayed up until 3 a.m. beta testing code she taught herself—maybe that woman deserved dinner.
However, she still felt like something was missing. Not in Harlan. Inher. Something she hadn't quite settled inside herself yet.
They worked well together. They always had. From the first day he stepped into her introduction of Aderra with a presence that carried weight. He asked real questions. Gave real respect. He didn’t coddle her. Didn’t diminish her either. There was a lingering between them then. That unspokenwe’re cut from the same clothenergy.
And if she were being honest, she’d thought about it.
About what his hands would feel like on her lower back. About how he’d probably kiss slow and with purpose. About what it would be like to take off her armor—not for approval or forgiveness—but just to beseen.
But something in her still flickered when she thought of Adair’s voice. Not just nostalgia. Not just memory. Apull—familiar and unfinished.
Because when Adair looked at her now, it was like hewantedto relearn her. Like he finally understood what he had mishandled. Like he knew she was becoming someone new and still wanted in.
That meant something. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t but Harlan? Harlan looked at her like he saw exactly who she wasalready. Like he didn’t need a map or a second chance, he just showed up with clarity. With readiness.
And that scared her for a whole different reason because for the first time in a long time, Sabine wasn’t just choosing between two men. She was choosing between theversion of herself that forgivesand theversion that has outgrown the need to be forgiven.
“I’ll say yes,” she said finally. “But I’m still deciding if it’s a good idea.”