Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle

Franz woke before daybreak.

The room was dark—curtains drawn, not a sliver of light pushing through. He didn’t know what had pulled him from sleep. His body had simply decided it was time to be awake, and his mind had followed without complaint.

Arianne was beside him. Still asleep.

Her back was to him, the curve of her spine just visible above the edge of the blanket, her dark hair spread across the pillow in a way she would never have allowed if she were conscious enough to arrange it. She slept like someone who had forgotten she was being watched.

He lay still for a moment, listening to her breathe. Slow. Even. Unconscious in a way she never permitted herself during the day, when every breath was measured, every movement careful.

Then he moved closer.

Slow. Careful. His chest pressed against her back, the warmth of her seeping through the thin silk of her nightdress. His arm slid over her waist, drawing her into him until there was no space left between them. She was soft against him—not the armor she wore during the day, but just her. Just Arianne.

He kissed her temple. Barely there. Just the brush of his lips against her hair, the faint scent of whatever soap she had used last night.

Arianne stirred. A small sound escaped her—not a word, just awareness surfacing—and her shoulders moved against his chest. But she didn’t wake. Her breathing evened out again, and she settled back into him like she belonged there.

Franz closed his eyes. Didn’t move.

The memory came back to him. Last night. After the marathon. After dinner.

They had climbed the stairs together, and he had been too eager. He knew it even as it happened, could feel himself crossing some invisible line between wanting and taking. His hands had been too rough, his mouth too insistent. Not cruel—never that—but urgent in a way that forgot she wasn’t just his fantasy anymore. She was here. Real. And real people had limits that fantasies didn’t.

She had pushed at his chest. Not hard. Just enough to still him.

"You’re going to bruise me," she said. Her voice was flat. Not angry. Just factual. "I have meetings next week."

He had stopped immediately, his hands freezing where they gripped her hips.

"I’m sorry."

She looked at him. Her hair was falling out of its tie, several strands sticking to her cheek. Her lip was slightly swollen where he had kissed her too hard. She didn’t look angry. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.

"I need to sleep, Franz."

Not a rebuke. Just a fact. She was telling him what she needed, the same way she would tell Gio which documents required urgent review. Direct. Efficient. Unapologetic.

He loosened his grip. Stepped back half a step.

"I’m sorry," he said again, because he didn’t know what else to say.

She studied him for a long moment. Then her hand came up, cupped his jaw. Her thumb pressed once against his cheekbone—not hard, just there, just enough to let him know she wasn’t angry.

"Tomorrow," she said. "Slower."

"Okay."

She let go. Reached for her clothes on the floor—the one she had been wearing earlier, the one that had ended up there sometime between the doorway and the bed.

"I’m going to my room."

He caught her wrist. Gentle this time. No pressure.

"You promised."

She looked at him, eyebrow raised.

"The whole weekend," he said. "You’re not leaving my side."

She held his gaze for a long moment, something changing behind her eyes. Calculation, maybe. Or just recognition.

"Fine. But I’m changing into my clothes."

She left. Returned ten minutes later in a silk nightdress—deep blue, simple, the kind of thing she wore when she wasn’t performing for anyone. No lace. No pretense. Just fabric that moved with her. Her hair was down, falling past her shoulders. Her face was clean of everything but the faint trace of moisturizer.

She climbed into his bed like she belonged there. Not tentative. Not asking permission. Just lifted the blanket and slid beneath it like she had been doing it for years.

He watched her settle against the pillow, her hand tucking beneath her cheek.

"You look like you belong there," he said.

"Don’t get used to it."

"Too late."

She almost smiled. It was there and gone, a flicker at the corner of her mouth, but he caught it.

They had lain facing each other in the dark after that. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, just voices and the sound of their breathing.

"We didn’t use anything," he said.

"I know."

"The last two nights. We didn’t—"

"I know what we didn’t do, Franz."

She wasn’t deflecting. She was letting him catch up.

Franz took a breath. "Are you trying to give Lily the cousin she’s been asking for?"

Arianne didn’t answer immediately. He could see the shape of her face in the dark—just barely, the pale oval of her skin against the pillow.

"If we want to have a child," she said finally, "we should try while I’m still capable."

Franz went motionless. His hand, which had been resting on her hip, stopped moving.

"You’re turning thirty-six soon."

"I’m aware of my age."

"That’s not—" He stopped. Started again. "You didn’t want children. Before. With him."

The words hung in the dark between them. He hadn’t meant to say it like that—hadn’t meant to bring Dominic into this bed at all. But the question had been sitting in his chest for months, ever since Lily started asking about cousins, ever since Arianne started staying.

"I didn’t," she said.

"And now?"

She was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that he thought she might not answer. Long enough that he started to regret asking.

Then she spoke.

"I don’t mind having a child," she said, "if it’s with you."

Franz stopped breathing.

He couldn’t see her face clearly—just the dark shape of her, the glint of her eyes. But he could feel her. The warmth of her. The weight of her words pressing against his ribs.

"Aria."

"Don’t make it strange."

"You just said—"

"I know what I said."

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. The dark hid it, but she probably felt it anyway—the change in his expression, the way his chest expanded.

"You’re smiling," she said.

"I’m not."

"You are."

He pulled her closer, arm sliding around her waist, drawing her across the small distance between them until her forehead pressed against his collarbone. She let him. Didn’t resist. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, over his heart.

He laughed—quiet, just a breath of air.

He held her tighter, his hand splaying across her lower back.

"I’ll work hard."

"See that you do."

She had fallen asleep in his arms a few minutes later, her breathing slowing, her body going soft against his. He had stayed awake much longer, holding her, thinking about the word if.

If we want to have a child.

Not if you want. Not if it happens.

If we want.

He traced the shape of her shoulder through the silk, not to wake her, just to feel her. If we want. She had said it like it was simple. Like it had always been simple. He had spent years wanting her from a distance, assuming the wanting was one-sided. And now here she was, using the same word. We. He pressed his lips to her hair and closed his eyes.

Now, in the dark before dawn, he surfaced from the memory.

Arianne was still pressed against him, her back to his chest, her body warm and loose with sleep. Her breathing had changed—lighter, not quite as deep, the way it got when she was drifting toward wakefulness.

He moved. His hand moved from her waist to her hip, palm settling against the curve of it.

She stirred. Her shoulders tensed, then relaxed. A small sound escaped her—not quite a word, just acknowledgment.

"Franz."

Her voice was rough. Sleep-heavy. The kind of voice she would never use in front of anyone else.

"Aria."

"It’s too early."

"I know."

"Your hands are wandering."

"They are."

She rolled to face him. Her eyes were barely open, just slits of gray in the dim light. Her hair was tangled across the pillow, strands caught on her cheek and lip.

"It’s too early for that too."

"Is it?"

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t push him away either.

The light was starting to change outside—just barely, the first hint of gray pushing against the bottom of the curtains. He could see her face now. The line of her jaw. The curve of her mouth. The faint shadows under her eyes from two nights of interrupted sleep.

He grinned. He couldn’t help it.

"You’re enjoying this," she said.

"Immensely."

He rolled them both, shifting his weight, pinning her beneath him. Gentle. Careful. The way he had promised himself he would be. His forearms braced on either side of her head, his hips settling against hers.

She looked up at him. Her hands came up, palms flat against his chest. Not pushing. Just resting there.

"You have until sunrise," she said.

"That’s not much time."

"Then you should get started."

The room grew lighter by degrees. Not bright—just less dark. The gray of early morning pressing against the curtains, the shapes of furniture emerging from shadow. Somewhere outside, a bird started singing. Then stopped.

Arianne was on her back now, the sheet pushed down to her waist. Franz was beside her, one arm thrown over her stomach, his face turned toward her on the pillow. Neither was asleep.

"You’re going to be late picking up the twins," she said.

"I have hours."

"You have three hours."

"Plenty of time."

She turned her head on the pillow. Looked at him. Her hair was everywhere—spread across his pillowcase, tangled at the ends, a few strands stuck behind her ear.

"You’re insatiable," she said.

"I’ve been waiting for years."

"You’ve had me for months."

"I’m making up for lost time."

She didn’t argue. Just turned her head back to the ceiling, her hand finding his on her stomach, fingers lacing together.

Outside, the sun rose. The curtains glowed gold at the edges, warm light seeping into the room.

"Aria."

"Mm."

"I meant what I said. About not minding. If you don’t want to."

She was quiet for a moment. Her thumb moved against his knuckles, back and forth, slow and absent.

"I know," she said finally.

"And?"

She turned her head again. Looked at him. Really looked, the way she did when she was about to say something she wanted him to hear.

"I meant what I said too. If it’s with you."

He lifted their joined hands. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Held there for a moment, lips against her skin.

Neither spoke again for a long time. The room filled with light. The bird outside started singing again, louder this time, joined by another.

Later—much later, when the sun was fully up and the shadows had shrunk to nothing—she sat up.

The sheet pooled around her waist. She pushed her hair back from her face, blinking against the light.

"I need coffee."

"I’ll make it."

"You’ll burn the water."

"You can’t burn water."

"Watch me."

He laughed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the silk robe draped over the chair. The fabric whispered against her skin as she pulled it on, tying the belt at her waist.

"Aria."

She looked back at him over her shoulder. He was still in bed, still naked, still watching her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

"Thank you," he said. "For staying."

She held his gaze for a moment. Then she stood, smoothed the front of her robe, and walked to the door.

At the threshold, she paused. Her hand rested on the frame.

"Don’t thank me for keeping my word," she said.

She left.

Franz lay there, staring at the ceiling, and smiled until his face hurt.