Chapter 8 - The Manhattan Skyline
The penthouse at the top of the Vance Global tower was breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed a postcard-perfect view of the Manhattan skyline bathed in the golden hues of a late-spring sunset. Inside, the apartment was a masterpiece of minimalist luxury—warm oak floors, plush cream-colored furniture, and a sprawling, state-of-the-art kitchen where the refrigerator hummed with a quiet, powerful perfection.
In the center of the expansive living room, Noah sat on a massive, ultra-soft cashmere rug, happily banging two wooden stacking rings together while Bruno lay sprawled out beside him like a furry black mountain, keeping a lazy, protective eye on the baby.
Savannah stood by the kitchen island, plating a simple home-cooked pasta dinner—something she insisted on making herself, despite Harrison’s protests that they could hire a Michelin-starred chef on a whim.
Harrison walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder as he watched her stir the sauce.
“It smells incredible,” Harrison murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
“It’s just garlic, tomatoes, and basil, Harrison,” Savannah laughed softly, turning around in his embrace to loop her arms around his neck. “Even a billionaire has to eat basic food sometimes.”
“Only if you’re cooking it,” he replied, his grey eyes softening with an intensity that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.
They stood together in silence for a moment, listening to the soft coos of the baby and the distant hum of the city below. The contrast between where they had started just a month ago and where they were now was staggering, yet it felt completely natural, as if every twist of fate, every wrong number, and every dark night had been leading them to this exact second.
“You know,” Savannah said quietly, a playful smile touching her lips, “I still have your business card in my wallet.”
Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Which one? The one for the electrician, or the one for the executive suite?”
“The one you slipped into my tip jar six months ago at the charity gala,” she whispered. “I found it in the lining of my old winter coat yesterday when I unpacked.”
Harrison’s expression softened into a slow, warm smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his sleek black wallet, and withdrew a fresh, uncreased card, slipping it into the front pocket of her apron.
May you like
“Keep that one, too,” Harrison murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, low register. “Just in case you ever need to text me by mistake again.”
Savannah laughed, pulling him down into a deep, lingering kiss as the city lights flickered on across the Manhattan skyline, illuminating a future that neither of them would ever have dared to dream of in the dark.
