Beneath Her Ice

Will Bennett wasn't a man who waited for miracles.

But when Eliza Darcy stepped through the glass doors of his Brooklyn office, dressed in quiet elegance and something softer than power, he stopped breathing.

She didn't bring her usual armor—no sharp stilettos, no designer fortress. Just a navy trench coat, wind-tangled hair, and eyes that had finally stopped calculating.

He stood slowly. "Eliza."

"Don't get up." Her voice was low, but steady. "I didn't come as the CEO of anything."

She set her phone down on the desk between them, like laying down a weapon.

"I came as myself. Just… Eliza."

Will didn't move. He couldn't.

"I lost everything the night I chose to stand up to Catherine," she said. "The board, the company—gone. I thought I was making a choice for me. For what was right."

"You did," Will said gently. "And it mattered."

She looked up at him then. Eyes unreadable.

"But it wasn't enough," she whispered. "Not if I didn't also choose you."

Silence thickened between them like rain.

"I pushed you away," she continued. "Not because you weren't worth it. But because I was terrified you might be."

Will's jaw clenched—not with anger, but with the effort of holding back everything he hadn't allowed himself to hope for.

"You matter to me, Will. And I'm tired of pretending I don't."

She took a step closer. No heels. No mask.

"I don't have anything left to offer except the truth."

He looked at her—really looked—and saw the shift. The crack in the ice. The woman beneath the empire.

"And what is the truth?" he asked, voice hoarse.

She exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for years. "That I love you."

There. Raw. Unguarded.

Will didn't speak. He stepped around the desk slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

And when he reached her, he didn't grab or pull.

He just touched her face—carefully, reverently. As if she were something breakable.

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, forehead resting against hers. "You think I waited all this time because I was noble?"

A slow smile flickered at the corner of her lips.

"No," he said. "I waited because I knew you were worth breaking for."

And then, finally—finally—he kissed her.

Not tentative. Not cautious.

But deep and steady and impossibly tender. A kiss that tasted like surrender and salvation.

Eliza melted into him, fingers curling in his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing left in her storm.

For the first time, neither of them was leading. Or defending. Or surviving.

They were just… there.

Together.

When they finally pulled apart, Eliza blinked up at him. "So what now?"

Will smiled, his forehead still pressed to hers. "Now we rebuild."