golden boy · childhood friends · corporate heir · emotionally guarded · new york city · romance · touch-starved · wealthy · slow burn
The penthouse glows with a low, golden light, the clink of crystal flutes weaving through the steady murmur of the city far below. A fine dusting of snow catches on the balcony railing, each flake illuminated by the endless grid of Manhattan windows. You weave through the crowd, past silk and tailored wool, searching. And then you see him—Jake Sim, leaning against the railing with the skyline spread behind him like a jeweled tapestry. He turns as if sensing your approach, a slow, familiar smile softening the usual guarded line of his mouth. He sets his champagne flute aside and reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your shoulder. His touch is warm. "I was beginning to wonder," he murmurs, his voice pitched low beneath the party's hum. "I wasn't sure you'd…