Deep Consuming Addiction

Chapter 115

✨ Late Nights & Lingering Thoughts. Even From a Distance✨

Elena Vale

“Ari,” she answered on the first ring, her voice softer than she intended, like she had been waiting for it.

“How was your day?”

“Fine. Yours?” she asked, shifting slightly where she sat, tucking her feet beneath her.

“Better when I can see you.”

A small smile touched her lips, even as she looked around her quiet apartment. “Long day?”

“Even longer night. I’m not sure when I’ll be finished here. Matteo and I are staying a little late.”

Elena nodded to herself, even though he couldn’t see it. “So you’re not going to be home.”

“Maybe late. Later than I’d like.”

“That bad?”

“Worst.”

She exhaled softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her phone. “You alright to be alone?” he asked.

“Yes. I will stay at my place.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

Ari was quiet for a second, like he was weighing that answer. “I don’t want you stressed about Monday.”

“I can’t help it, baby,” she breathed out, her voice thinner now, more honest.

There was a pause on the line, not empty—just heavy with everything they weren’t saying out loud.

“I wish I was there right now,” he said after a while.

Elena leaned back against the couch, her eyes drifting shut at the sound of his voice. She could hear the faint background noise around him—papers shifting, a low murmur somewhere in the distance, the quiet hum of a place that hadn’t slowed down even though the day should have ended hours ago.

“Me too,” she said softly.

Ari exhaled on the other end, slower this time. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “Just sitting here… thinking.”

“Too much?”

“Always.”

A faint huff of amusement came through the line. “Stop that.”

“If it were that easy, I would’ve done it already.”

“I wish I was there right now,” he said after a while, his voice lower, quieter, like the weight of the day was finally catching up to him.

Elena shifted on the couch, pulling her other leg up beneath her as she held the phone closer to her ear. “I know,” she said softly. “Me too.”

On the other end, she could hear the distant hum of a space still alive with work long after it should’ve been empty. She pictured him there without trying. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, focus sharp but tired around the edges.

“You eat?” he asked.

She smiled faintly. “Yes, Ari.”

“What you had?”

“A bagel this morning,” she teased lightly. “Does that count?”

“No,” he said immediately. “That’s not food. That’s survival.”

She let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft in the quiet of her apartment. “I’ll order something.”

“You better,” he replied, and even through the phone she could hear the shift—less business, more him. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” she said, her voice gentler now. “I’ll take care of myself.”

A small pause followed.

Not empty.

Just… full of things neither of them were saying yet.

“You sound tired,” she said after a moment.

“I am,” he admitted. “But it’s not just work.”

Elena’s chest tightened slightly. “Then what is it?”

Ari exhaled slowly on the other end. “You.”

Her breath caught, just a little.

“Not in a bad way,” he added quickly, his tone softer now. “Just… being away from you like this. Knowing you’re dealing with everything and I’m not there.”

Elena leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes closing briefly. “I’m okay,” she said.

“I know you are,” he replied. “That’s not the point.”

She swallowed softly. “Then what is?”

“The point is I don’t like you handling things alone when you don’t have to.”

That settled deep.

Because it wasn’t control.

It was care.

“I’m not alone,” she said quietly.

Ari didn’t respond immediately.

Then—

“You better not be,” he said, a faint edge of something protective slipping through.

Elena smiled to herself, shaking her head slightly. “I mean… I have you.”

Silence.

Then a softer exhale.

“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”

Another pause stretched between them, but this one felt closer. Like the distance had shrunk just a little.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Sitting here. Thinking too much.”

“Stop doing that,” he murmured.

“Not that easy.”

“It is,” he said. “Come here.”

She let out a small breath of laughter. “Ari, I’m not teleporting to your office.”

“Shame,” he muttered. “Would’ve solved a lot.”

Elena smiled, her fingers tracing absent patterns against the couch. “Finish your work.”

“I will,” he said. “Then I’m coming to you.”

Her heart skipped slightly. “You said it’ll be late.”

“It will be,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I’m not coming.”

She hesitated for a second. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut in, firm but not harsh. “There’s a difference.”

That left no room for argument.

Elena exhaled slowly, her voice softer now. “Okay.”

Ari shifted on the other end, like he was settling back into his chair.

She smiled faintly. “I might fall asleep.”

“Try to,” he said. “I will see you when I get there.”

Her chest warmed at that.

“I’ll try,” she said.

A small pause followed, quieter now, calmer.

“Call me if you need anything,” he added.

“I will.”

“And Elena?”

“Yeah?”

His voice dropped slightly.

“Don’t let your head run away from you tonight.”

She closed her eyes, letting that settle.

“I won’t,” she said.

Another beat passed.

Neither of them rushed to hang up.

Because even through the phone—

They weren’t ready to let go just yet.

---

The first thing Elena felt was the weight of expectation when her eyes open.

Not his.

Her own.

She was awake before dawn, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling in her apartment. The room was dim, washed in the soft blue-gray that came before sunrise. The city outside her window was quieter than usual, as if even it understood the importance of what Monday would bring. It was now Friday.

Two days.

She turned her head toward the nightstand. Her phone screen was dark, but she didn’t need to check it. The internal affairs brief sat unfinished on her dining table—cross-referenced, annotated, revised twice already.

And still not enough.

She pushed the covers back and sat up slowly.

Her apartment wasn’t large, but it was orderly. Intentional. A neutral-toned sofa. A narrow bookshelf filled with policy binders and novels she barely had time to read. A glass dining table currently buried beneath files, sticky notes, and highlighted documents.

This was her battlefield.

She walked barefoot to the kitchen, the tile cool beneath her feet. Coffee first. Always coffee.

As the machine hummed to life, she leaned against the counter and closed her eyes briefly.

The pressure wasn’t imagined.

The internal affairs brief wasn’t just a report—it was exposure. Financial inconsistencies. Executive oversights. Names attached to decisions that were never meant to be scrutinized this closely.

If she missed something, they would know.

If she hesitated, they would question her authority.

If she faltered—

She wouldn’t.

The coffee finished brewing.

She carried the mug to the table and sat down, pulling the top folder closer. Her laptop screen glowed to life. Charts. Memos. Email chains.

She tied her hair back without thinking, slid her glasses on, and began again.

By mid-morning, her apartment felt smaller.

The sun had risen fully, streaming through the windows, casting sharp light across the papers. Dust motes floated in the air, disturbed every time she shifted.

Her pen moved quickly—margin notes, arrows, circled paragraphs.

“Clarify liability exposure.”

“Reframe accountability language.”

“Executive summary too passive.”

Her own handwriting accused her.

Her phone buzzed suddenly.

She startled slightly, heart jumping.

Ari.

Her chest tightened before she even answered.

“Good morning,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You’re working,” he replied immediately.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Have you eaten? Did you sleep?”

She glanced at the untouched toast on the counter.

“Yes,” she lied.

Silence.

“You’re lying.”

She exhaled softly. “I don’t have time for a lecture.”

“I’m not lecturing.”

It didn’t sound like a lecture.

It sounded like concern.

That was worse.

“You’ll get through it,” he said.

“I know.”

“You don’t sound like you know.”

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.

“I can’t afford to get this wrong, Ari.”

“You won’t.”

The certainty in his voice both steadied and unsettled her.

“You’re very sure of me.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“You didn't come,” she said before she could reconsider.

“I’m still here.”

"Okay."

The call ended.

The apartment felt quieter after.

She worked until early afternoon without stopping. She barely noticed the light shifting, the way the golden warmth of morning turned harsher and more direct.

Her back ached.

Her eyes burned.

She stood and stretched, walking toward the window. From here she could see the river cutting through the city, traffic moving steadily across the bridge.

Somewhere out there, he was navigating meetings and negotiations and headlines.

Her world was quieter.

But no less sharp.

She returned to the table and began restructuring the executive summary.

Not defensive.

Direct.

Not accusatory.

Precise.

By the time the sky began to soften into evening, she felt both accomplished and terrified.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She didn’t check the peephole.

She knew.

She opened it before he knocked again.

Ari stood there in a dark suit, jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened. He looked composed—but she could see the faint tension in his jaw.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He kissed her properly, his mouth moving over hers. Her tongue sweep over his and her arms wrapped around his neck. His mouth moving over hers with intention, with a quiet hunger that had been building all day.

Elena stilled for half a second, then melted into it, her hands finding his shirt, gripping lightly as if to keep him right there. His hand came up to her face, holding her steady as he tilted his head, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be.

Her breath softened against him, her body leaning closer without thinking, and Ari responded instantly, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.

“Missed you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low, almost rough.

“Missed you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low, almost rough.

Elena smiled faintly, her forehead brushing his as she tried to steady her breathing.

He stepped inside, removing his jacket and placing it carefully over the back of a chair. The contrast between him and her apartment struck her again. He carried the energy of glass towers and boardrooms into her quiet space of paper and ink.

His gaze fell immediately to the table.

“You’ve reorganized it.”

“You noticed?”

“Yes.”

She tried not to let that affect her.

“Sit,” she said, handing him the latest draft.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t take control.

He read.

Silently. Thoroughly.

She watched him as he did—watched the way his brow shifted slightly when he reached a vulnerable section. Watched the way his thumb tapped lightly against the page when he calculated something.

When he finally looked up, her pulse spiked.

“You’re solid on data like I said. But your assumption here—” he tapped the second page, “—relies on them responding rationally.”

“They won’t?”

“They’ll protect themselves.”

She exhaled.

“I know.”

“Then adjust your framing. Make it impossible to attack without exposing their own oversight.”

She stared at him.

“That’s ruthless.”

“It’s strategic.”

She hesitated only a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

He rolled his sleeves up slightly and leaned forward.

And just like that, they became a team.

He didn’t rewrite her work.

He sharpened it.

He asked questions that forced her to tighten her reasoning. He identified weak language. He pushed her to replace “suggests” with “demonstrates.” To remove qualifiers. To own her conclusions.

At one point she dropped her pen and rubbed her temples.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Take five minutes,” he said.

“If I stop, I won’t start again.”

He stood and walked to the kitchen without asking permission. She heard cabinets open. The kettle. Movement.

He returned with tea instead of coffee.

“You need clarity,” he said, placing it in front of her.

She looked up at him.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“So certain.”

He held her gaze steadily.

“Because I’ve watched you work.”

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

She looked back down at the papers before he could see it fully.

They worked until the sky outside her windows turned deep blue.

Streetlights flickered on.

Her apartment felt warmer now—not just from the hours of focus, but from him being there.

When she finally typed the last revision of the evening and leaned back, the document felt stronger. Harder to break.

She looked at him.

“I think it’s ready.”

“It is.”

She searched his face for doubt.

There was none.

Only calm confidence.

He stood and stepped closer, brushing his fingers lightly along her jaw.

“You’re not under pressure,” he said quietly. “You’re in control.”

She let herself believe that for a moment.

Not because she was fearless.

But because she had done the work.

Because she had faced the complexity instead of avoiding it.

Because she had someone who didn’t overshadow her strength—he reinforced it.

Outside, the city moved relentlessly toward Monday.

Inside, Elena felt something steadier settle in her chest.

Not just readiness.

Belief.

And for the first time since the brief had landed on her desk, she wasn’t afraid of the room she would walk into.

She was prepared.

And she would not shrink.