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The rain intensified as they finally left the Themis Law Firm, turning the neon skyline of Stellis into a blurred watercolour of violet and amber. Artem didn’t argue when Rosa took his keys. He simply leaned his head back against the leather headrest of the passenger seat, closing his eyes as the engine hummed to life.
The car smelled of his familiar cedarwood cologne and the faint, crisp scent of the rain she’d brought in with her. For a man who took pride in his precision — who calculated every turn and gear shift with the same focus he applied to a cross-examination — surrendering the wheel was the ultimate admission of exhaustion.
“You’re being very quiet, Senior Attorney,” Rosa murmured, her voice barely rising above the rhythmic click of the indicator.
Artem didn’t open his eyes, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I believe I have reached my billable limit for words today. My brain has decided to go on strike.”
“Does that mean the Happiness Consultant is allowed to implement Phase Two?”
He opened one eye, watching her profile as she navigated the damp streets. “And what does Phase Two entail?”
“Silence. And zero legal talk. We’re going to your flat, I’m making that tea properly, and you’re going to sit on the sofa and do absolutely nothing.”
Artem let out a soft, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if he weren’t so drained. “That sounds... dangerously productive.”
By the time they reached his apartment, the “Robot Attorney” was nowhere to be found.
Artem had shed his suit jacket and waistcoat, tossing them over the back of a chair with a rare lack of concern for creases. He sat on the edge of his velvet sofa, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sharp lines of his forearms. He looked younger like this — less like a legal titan and more like the man who secretly spent his weekends perfecting pasta recipes and obsessing over the exact temperature of his coffee.
Rosa returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs. When she sat down beside him, she realised he hadn’t moved. He was staring at the bookshelf across the room, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
He was spacing out.
It wasn’t the vacant stare of someone bored; it was the heavy, soft look of a man who had finally found a safe place to let his mind wander. His eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, were glazed with a quiet sort of peace.
“Artem?” she whispered, placing the tea on the coffee table.
He didn’t blink. He just continued to stare at a leather-bound volume of international law as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, though his thoughts were clearly miles away. It was exactly what she’d wanted to see — the version of him that didn’t feel the need to perform.
Gently, she reached out and nudged his shoulder.
Artem started, his focus snapping back to her with a jolt. A faint flush of colour crept up his neck, reaching the tips of his ears. “I... apologies. I seem to have lost track of the last few minutes.”
“You were doing it,” she teased, leaning in close. “The spacing out. I think that’s the longest I’ve ever seen you sit still without a pen in your hand.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “It is a strange sensation. To have no pressing thoughts. No arguments to prepare. No contingencies to calculate.” He turned his head to look at her, his expression softening into something raw and incredibly sweet. “Usually, even in my sleep, my mind is working. But when you’re sitting there... it’s as if the world simply stops demanding things from me.”
Rosa didn’t say anything. She just reached over and tucked her hand into his, lacing their fingers together.
Artem looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing the curve of her palm with a slow, deliberate pressure. He didn’t look back up at the bookshelves. He didn’t look at the clock. He just sat there, savouring the quiet, finally at 100%.
“The consultant is pleased with these results,” she whispered.
Artem leaned over, resting his chin on the top of her head, his eyes closing again. “The client,” he murmured, his voice thick with a hard-won contentment, “is very glad he hired you.”
Rosa smiled against the fabric of his shirt. For a few long minutes, the only sounds in the flat were the relentless drumming of the Stellis rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows and the steady, reassuring thrum of Artem’s heartbeat beneath her cheek.
Eventually, she shifted just enough to reach the coffee table. “Your prescription is getting cold, Mr. Wing.”
Artem let out a quiet hum of reluctance, lifting his head just enough for her to retrieve the mugs. He took the tea from her, his fingers brushing the back of her hand, and took a slow sip. The warmth of the chamomile and honey seemed to loosen the final, stubborn knots of tension in his jaw.
He didn’t put the mug back down immediately. Instead, he cradled it in his palms, staring down at the amber liquid. The silence between them shifted, growing slightly heavier, but not uncomfortably so. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded one of his rare, unguarded confessions.
“People see the ninety-nine percent,” he said suddenly, his voice low, aimed more at the steam rising from his cup than at her. “The media, the clients, even the junior partners. They see the flawless record. They see the Senior Attorney who always has a contingency plan.”
Rosa didn’t interrupt. She simply shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder against his arm to let him know she was listening.
“But on days like today,” he continued, setting the mug down and leaning back into the cushions, “the ninety-nine percent means nothing. All I can see is the one percent. The one detail I might have overlooked. The one argument the prosecution might use to dismantle my defence. It feels... deafening.”
It was a stark admission from a man whose entire career was built on unshakeable confidence. To the rest of the world, Artem Wing was a fortress. But sitting here in his living room, with his sleeves rolled up and his guard completely dismantled, he was just a man terrified of letting people down.
Rosa turned to face him, pulling her legs up onto the sofa so she could look at him properly. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the dark circles beneath his eyes that the office lighting usually hid.
“You hold up the sky for everyone else, Artem,” she said softly. “It’s okay if your arms get tired. You are allowed to put it down when you come home.”
Artem looked at her, his striking blue eyes searching her face. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that made her chest ache — a quiet, desperate hope that she meant what she said.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. It wasn’t the tentative, careful touch he usually employed in public. It was a firm, grounding hold, as if she were the only solid thing in a room that was spinning. He rested his head heavily against her shoulder, burying his face into the curve of her neck.
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he breathed against her skin, the words so quiet she almost felt them more than she heard them.
“You don’t have to find out,” she promised, resting her cheek against the crown of his head. Her hand found its way into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp with slow, rhythmic motions.
Within minutes, she felt the rigid line of his spine finally go slack. The deep, even cadence of his breathing shifted, matching the steady rhythm of the rain outside. The great Senior Attorney, the relentless protector of Stellis City, had finally surrendered to exhaustion.
Rosa didn’t move to turn off the lamp. She simply pulled the knitted throw blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over his broad shoulders, and let the quiet of the flat settle around them.
The scales were finally balanced. And for tonight, the one percent didn’t matter at all.