When Sunny returned to the penthouse that evening, the city outside had already begun to glow with the soft gold of early nightfall. The kind of light that made glass buildings look like lanterns and every breeze feel like a sigh.
Zane had given her an extra key — a quiet gesture that spoke more than the words he hadn't said.
She let herself in wordlessly.
The apartment was quiet. Not cold, not empty — just resting. Like it was waiting.
She carried a couple of grocery bags to the kitchen, unpacking them with practiced care. A few essentials, some fresh fruit, things she thought might coax him into eating something other than takeout or coffee. She even bought the herbal tea Axel had served earlier that day.
Once everything was tucked neatly into the fridge, she padded across the apartment to check on him.
She found him slumped over at the dining table, asleep in front of his laptop. His head was tilted to one side, arms folded, brow furrowed even in sleep. A small notebook was open in front of him, scribbled notes and highlighted text filling the page.
She leaned in gently, glancing over his shoulder.
"Standard termination clause... breach of ethical representation... early exit penalties..."
Laura had been right. Sunny couldn't catch every word, but it was clear — Zane had been digging. Hard.
He wasn't just working late. He wasn't just distracted.
He was fighting. For them.
A pang of guilt touched her chest — soft, but real. For having doubted him. For assuming the silence meant distance when it had actually meant effort. Quiet, desperate effort.
She moved without a word, retrieving a soft blanket from the couch and carefully draping it around his shoulders. As she did, she leaned in, wrapping her arms around him from behind — a warm, feather-light hug — and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
That was enough to stir him.
Zane shifted with a faint murmur. "Huh…?"
He blinked groggily, eyes adjusting, still caught between sleep and waking. Then he saw her.
"Sunny…?"
She hesitated a moment, eyes meeting his — tired, soft, surprised — and then offered him a small, knowing smile.
"Zane," she said gently, "did your search lead anywhere?"
He looked confused at first, still surfacing from sleep, trying to piece together her words. Then his gaze flicked to the open notebook on the table — and the realization clicked into place.
"Oh," he breathed. "I… I was going to tell you."
She reached up and touched his arm lightly, then gave a faint shake of her head. "You don't have to explain."
Then, softer — cheeks blooming with color, but eyes unwavering — she added, "You know… you could have talked to me about it. But… it's okay. And I… appreciate the effort."
The way she said it — gentle, sincere, with that quiet spark of affection just behind her voice — hit him deeper than any apology or speech might have.
He reached up and touched her hand where it rested against his chest, fingers lacing gently through hers.
"I didn't want to make promises I couldn't keep," he said finally.
Sunny smiled again, and this time… it reached her eyes.
"You already are."
---
The rest of the night was quiet.
After a few more exchanged words, Sunny gently closed his laptop and set the notebook aside. Zane looked like he wanted to protest — something about needing to finish reading, needing to highlight one more clause — but she silenced him with a look that was half stern, half loving.
"Tomorrow," she said firmly. "We'll go over it together."
Zane blinked at her, surprised. "You want to help me go through all that?"
She smiled faintly, already tugging him up from the chair. "If you're serious about this… then we're doing it together. But right now?" Her voice softened as she gently reached for his hand. "Right now, you need to rest."
And he let her lead him — not because he was too tired to argue, but because something in her touch made him want to follow. Her certainty, her quiet care. It anchored him.
She practically guided him to bed, pulling back the covers and nudging him down until he was lying on his side, head sinking into the pillow.
She climbed in next to him.
Not close — not yet. Just… beside him. Facing him in the dim light, her hand tucked under her cheek, her hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink.
She didn't touch him.
Not yet.
She just watched him for a moment — taking in the way his chest rose and fell, how the furrow in his brow began to ease. How sleep slowly crept back into the edges of his eyes now that he wasn't hunched over legal language and deadlines.
And then, when she was sure he was almost asleep, she whispered — barely audible, but close enough to reach him:
"I'm sorry for doubting you."
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek — soft, warm, lingering just long enough to say I see you.
Zane stirred, but this time he didn't blink in confusion. His eyes opened slowly, and without a word, he reached out and pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her with a tired kind of gratitude. Like holding her made him remember what he was fighting for.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair. "For keeping this from you."
Sunny didn't answer. She just let herself be held, her forehead tucked beneath his chin, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing.
They would figure everything out tomorrow.
But tonight, they rested — side by side, nothing hidden between them anymore.
---
The next morning, they got to work.
The living room had been transformed into a temporary war room — mugs of half-finished tea, notebooks open, sticky notes lining the edge of Zane's laptop, and Sunny curled up beside him with a pen poised and her focus dialed all the way in.
Zane sat cross-legged on the floor, the printed contract spread across the coffee table like a sacred (and infuriating) text. His laptop was open to a bookmarked legal forum, and the back of his hand was scribbled with question marks and timestamps from video interviews he'd watched the night before.
Sunny had offered to take notes while he read aloud. Normally, she was the last person to volunteer for anything involving structure — her world was more post-it chaos and creative bursts than bullet points and timelines. But in this case, she made an exception. For him. And Zane — well, Zane liked the way she calmly dissected every sentence he stumbled over, even if it wasn't her usual style. It felt like teamwork. Like trust.
They had been at it for hours. Clause after clause, most of it worded to sound neutral but designed to trap. Ownership rights. Scheduling requirements. Minimum release obligations.
"I swear," Zane muttered at one point, "they wrote this with a team of lawyers and a touch of dark magic."
Sunny didn't laugh, but her lips twitched. "You signed it, remember?"
"I signed it seven weeks ago and they offered me a rooftop showcase with sushi and three stylists. Don't judge me."
"I'm not," she said, jotting something down. "I'm saving you."
And then — finally — they found it.
It wasn't obvious, and it certainly wasn't highlighted. But tucked into a subsection buried beneath "Performance Obligations" was a paragraph that caught Sunny's eye as Zane read aloud:
"If the artist is deemed unable to fulfill obligations due to a prolonged loss of creative alignment, the Label may renegotiate or dissolve the agreement upon mutual review."
Zane paused. "Wait… what?"
Sunny leaned in. "Read that again."
He did. Then again.
"Prolonged loss of creative alignment…" he echoed. "That's vague."
"But it's there," Sunny said, her heart beating a little faster. "They're basically saying — if your vision doesn't match theirs anymore, and it's affecting your ability to deliver — the contract can be renegotiated."
Zane blinked. "You're kidding."
She pointed at the phrase. "Nope. It's right there. This might be your out."
He ran a hand through his hair, stunned. "How did I miss that?"
"Because it's written like a passive-aggressive breakup letter," she said. "But it's something."
Zane stared at the page. "It says 'mutual review.' So I'd have to ask for it."
Sunny nodded. "You'd have to make a case. Maybe even bring in an advocate — a lawyer, maybe even your manager, someone who'll back up the fact that your creative direction has changed."
"And that I'm not aligned with their image anymore."
"Which," she added softly, "is true."
Zane looked up at her. She was smiling again — not because it was over, but because it wasn't hopeless anymore. They'd found something.
Not a guarantee.
But a door.
A crack of light.
He let out a long breath and sank back against the couch. "I can't believe this. I actually might have a chance."
Sunny closed her notebook and placed her hand over his.
"You do. And you're not doing it alone."
Zane smiled, this time with something real behind it — relief, maybe even gratitude.
And for the first time in weeks, the future didn't feel like a ticking clock.
It felt like something they could shape together.
---
So now came the hard part.
Zane had the clause — the potential out — but it wasn't enough to just know it existed. He had to prove it. He needed someone to back up his claim that he was no longer creatively aligned with the label's direction. That he wasn't just bailing — that he was burning out.
And that meant finding someone on the inside to speak on his behalf.
That's when Sunny spoke up again, flipping through her notes.
"Actually… Laura told me something yesterday," she said, glancing at him. "She said your manager mentioned over the phone that you've been 'off' lately. Even at the agency."
Zane paused, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "She did?"
Sunny nodded. "Yeah. Laura didn't say much, but it sounded like it wasn't just her observation. Your manager's picked up on it too."
Zane leaned back, processing that. He hadn't talked to his manager directly in a few days — everything had been email check-ins and auto-scheduled press releases. But if she noticed it too…
Maybe she'd understand.
Maybe she'd vouch for him.
Without wasting another moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to her contact. His thumb hovered for only a second before tapping Call.
She didn't answer — probably in a meeting — so he left a quick voicemail, calm but to the point.
"Hey, it's Zane. I was hoping to talk — about something a little more personal. Would you be open to a quick online meeting? Just whenever you have time. It's important."
Then he sent a follow-up text, just in case.
A few hours passed. The sun dipped lower, and Sunny reheated the leftover tea while Zane refreshed his email every fifteen minutes. He wasn't usually this anxious about meetings — but this one mattered. This wasn't just career management. This was everything.
At 5:42 p.m., his phone buzzed.
New email from: Adrienne — Label ManagerLet's set up a video call. I have a slot open tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. I'll send a link.
Zane exhaled slowly, setting his phone down like it had just been defused.
"She said yes," he told Sunny, his voice half-exhale, half-disbelief.
Sunny grinned. "Of course she did."
He gave her a lopsided smile, trying to ignore the way his heart was now pounding. "Now I just have to explain why I want out of the contract I signed seven weeks ago."
Sunny gently bumped her knee against his. "You don't have to convince her of anything fake, Zane. Just… tell her the truth."
He nodded slowly, staring at the email again.
"Yeah," he said. "The truth. Finally."
---
Even though nothing was official yet — no contracts torn up, no strings cut — just finding that loophole felt like breathing room. Like the air had shifted. They weren't out of the woods, but at least now, there was a path forward.
It wasn't certainty, but it was hope.
And that was enough to celebrate.
Well… celebrate lightly. Neither of them had much energy left after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days — let alone the brain-numbing hours spent decoding legal jargon.
So they kept it simple.
Zane ordered pizza — half classic margherita, half loaded with toppings Sunny liked. And, without even asking, he added a bottle of orange ramune to the order. It was her favorite. He remembered. He always remembered.
When the food arrived, they pulled blankets onto the couch, curled up without much ceremony, and let the smell of melted cheese and warm dough fill the space.
"Movie?" Zane asked, already flipping through titles.
Sunny made a small noise, her head against his shoulder. "Something happy. Something with a dance scene. Or dogs."
He chuckled. "Dance scenes and dogs. Got it."
They settled on a feel-good film — one of those movies that didn't try to be deep or complicated. It just made you feel okay about the world for a while. People fell in love. Dogs were rescued. Friendships didn't fall apart. No one died in the second act. It was exactly what they needed.
Midway through the movie, Sunny cracked open her ramune with a satisfying pop and took a sip, her eyes fluttering shut in quiet joy.
"You seriously remembered this?" she asked, nudging his leg with hers.
Zane gave her a soft, teasing grin. "Sunbeam, I could forget my own birthday before I forget your drink order."
She rolled her eyes — but smiled.
They didn't talk much after that. They didn't need to.
Just two tired hearts under one blanket, sharing pizza and peace, letting the glow of the screen paint the walls in soft light.
And for the first time in what felt like days… neither of them felt far away.
---
Funny that Zane had mentioned birthdays.
Because Sunny's was coming up. This weekend, in fact.
She hadn't been planning anything. She never really did.
Amelia usually gifted her something quirky and thoughtful — last year it was a handmade mixtape and socks with cats playing instruments. Laura and Axel had, in the past, picked out something cozy or useful — but more recently, Sunny had started insisting that she didn't need anything. Their company was enough.
Her parents would send an invite to come over for dinner "whenever she had time," usually paired with a generic gift card or a fruit basket that someone else clearly picked out.
And… that was it.
No parties. No candles. Just another day.
So as the movie ended and they sat in that warm afterglow of pizza and comfort, she turned her head a little and casually said, "Oh, by the way… my birthday's this Saturday."
Zane blinked. "Wait. What?"
She raised a brow, amused. "Yeah. Why?"
He sat up a little straighter, eyes wide. "You're telling me your birthday is this weekend and you just now brought it up?"
Sunny shrugged, grinning a little. "Didn't think it mattered. I'm not really a big birthday person."
Zane looked personally offended. "How did I not know about this? What kind of boyfriend—?! No, wait. Scratch that. What kind of person—"
She laughed. "Zane. It's not a big deal."
He shook his head dramatically, like she had just told him she didn't believe in holidays or that she ate pizza with a fork and knife. "Not a big deal? Sunny, birthdays are sacred. A whole day dedicated to celebrating your existence? That's premium content!"
She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Okay, poet."
"No seriously," he said, tone softening as he reached for her hand. "You deserve to feel special. At least once a year. And if nobody else is doing that, then I will."
That made her pause. Her eyes dropped to their joined hands.
"You really don't have to do anything," she mumbled. "Just being with you that day is enough."
Zane tilted his head. "So... if I just so happen to treat you to dinner... and maybe sneak in some snacks after... that would be okay?"
She gave him a look, but it melted quickly into something warm. "A small dinner."
He held up three fingers. "Medium-small."
She narrowed her eyes. "No surprises. No guests."
"No surprises. No guests," he repeated solemnly. Then added, "Just me. And maybe a little sparkle. Just like... a sparklette."
"Zane," she warned, fighting a smile.
He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her temple. "Fine. I'll behave. But only because it's your birthday."
She leaned into the kiss, resting her head on his shoulder afterward.
And despite her insistence that she didn't want much... the idea of having him by her side that day — really, truly present — suddenly made her look forward to Saturday a lot more than she thought she would.