The indistinct murmur of voices behind him barely registered. His father and Stuart were deep in discussion—numbers, projections, empire-building. The merger between Kallistratos and Bouras was monumental. The seismic shift that would send tremors through global markets, realign power structures, and make headlines around the world.
Alexandros didn’t care.
Not about the company. Not about the legacy. Not about fortune.
Not when she was out there.
He stood at the window of the villa’s study, his hands curled in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the woman seated on the sand below. Dani sat cross-legged, her back to the house, a stubborn line to her shoulders as the wind tousled her hair. Her profile was etched against the horizon, silhouetted by the glow of the late afternoon sun.
She was beautiful. Wild. Untamed.
And slipping away from him.
He clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching with the need to touch her.
Every part of him ached with frustration.
He had thought asking Stuart for Dani’s hand in marriage was the hard part. He hadn’t expected the man to show up uninvited at their family home and announce the news over coffee like it was already done. His mother had immediately lit up like a chandelier, her joy filling the villa, her wedding planner on speed dial before Alexandros could even finish his next breath.
But none of that mattered.
He hadn’t asked her yet.
And Dani didn’t belong to anyone.
She had remained silent, but he had felt her growing restlessness. She wouldn’t accept him—unless she chose to.
And right now, she wasn’t choosing him.
Every night since she had come home from the hospital, he had held her.
She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t needed to.
The first night, her screams ripped through the silence like a blade. Crashing through the connecting doors of the bedrooms, his heart pounding, he’d found her tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, thrashing like a cornered animal. He’d climbed into bed beside her and wrapped her in his arms. Her wild sobs had turned into soft hiccups, her trembling into calm. He had stayed until the sun crept over the horizon, then slipped out before she woke.
It had happened again.
And again.
Until sneaking into her bed became his ritual. His necessity. He held her like a lifeline, but never crossed the invisible line between need and permission. He buried the hunger, the heat. Night after night, he left her untouched—and it was breaking him.
She curled against him like she was home—like she needed him—even so, he didn’t touch her the way he dreamed of touching her. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t take what his entire body ached for.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—until she was ready. At first, it had been because her body needed to heal. Now, it was her mind.
But the past week… The past week was testing every ounce of restraint he had.
There were moments he would wake before her, watching her sleep with one hand tangled in the hair on his chest, her breath feathering across his throat—and it took everything in him not to whisper her name and wake her with a kiss. To cover her body with his and sink into her like a dying man searching for the elixir of life.
Her scent was on his skin. Her warmth had wrapped its wayaround his body until he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended. They were destined to be one—whether she accepted that truth yet or not.
But what he saw now from the window chilled him more than all the nights after he had left her bed aching.
She stood up.
From his vantage point, he could see her staring atThe Gentle Breeze—the battered old trawler rocking gently on the turquoise sea. Her trawler. Her escape.
He saw it happen in slow motion—her gaze drifting over the waves, her body leaning forward, drawn like the tide. His gut clenched as she took a single step toward the water. She looked small from this distance, a lone figure poised at the edge of a choice. His fingers tightened around his phone; he was ready to text Demetrius, who he knew was watching the same scene unfold.
