Dont play

The Friday evening air in Manhattan was crisp, carrying the scent of roasted nuts from street vendors and the distant, rhythmic hum of the subway beneath the pavement. For Annabeth, the week had felt like a whirlwind, a blur of celebratory phone calls and the frantic, joyful preparation for her new role at Atreus Designs. But tonight, the blueprints were rolled up, the charcoal pencils were tucked away, and the only thing on her mind was the man currently adjusting his tie in the mirror of their hallway.

Percy looked like a dream. He had traded his usual salt-stained hoodies for a crisp, white button-down shirt tucked into tailored navy trousers. His blonde curls were still damp from the shower, defying the gel he’d tried to use to tame them, and his blue eyes were bright with an excitement that usually only appeared when he was talking about marine biology or winning a bet against her.

"You're staring, Wise Girl," Percy teased, catching her reflection. He turned around, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Is there something on my face, or am I just that devastatingly handsome?"

Annabeth laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that echoed off the marble floors of their foyer. She stepped toward him, her five-foot frame looking particularly delicate next to his broad shoulders. She was wearing a silk, slip-style dress in a deep champagne gold that complemented her brown skin perfectly. Her light brown boho knotless braids were swept to one side, held in place by a gold filigree clip that looked like an olive branch.

"You're a dork, Percy Jackson," she said, reaching up to straighten his collar. Her small hands lingered there for a moment. "But yes, you look okay. I suppose I can be seen in public with you."

"Just okay?" Percy pouted, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her up so her toes barely touched the floor. "I spent twenty minutes on my hair for 'just okay'?"

"It still looks like a bird nested in it," she whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. "But it’s my favorite bird’s nest."

He let her down gently, his expression softening into that look of pure, unadulterated devotion that always made Annabeth’s heart do a frantic little dance. "You look beautiful, Annabeth. Like, 'I might forget how to breathe if you keep looking at me like that' beautiful."

"Smooth," she teased, though her cheeks flushed a deep, warm hue. "Now, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is this a kidnapping?"

"A very high-end kidnapping," Percy promised, grabbing his suit jacket and her beaded clutch. "The car is downstairs. No questions until we hit Midtown."

The black town car waiting at the curb was a silent testament to the Jackson influence, but inside, the atmosphere was all them. Percy held her hand the entire way, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. He listened with rapt attention as she talked about her first meeting with Mr. Blofis at Atreus, her eyes lighting up as she described the sustainable materials she wanted to pitch for the museum’s glass atrium.

"They actually listened to me, Percy," she said, her voice filled with a quiet awe. "They didn't look at me like I was a kid playing dress-up. They looked at me like an architect."

"That’s because you are one," Percy said firmly. "The best one. And tonight, we celebrate the fact that the rest of the world is finally catching up to what I’ve known since I met you."

The car pulled up to a discreet, ivy-covered entrance in Gramercy Park. There was no sign, only a heavy mahogany door and a small brass plaque that read *The Archive*.

"Percy, isn't this...?" Annabeth started, her eyes widening.

"The place that requires a six-month waiting list and a blood sacrifice to get a reservation? Yeah," Percy grinned, stepping out and offering her his hand. "Luckily, the owner is a big fan of my dad’s conservation work. And I might have mentioned it was for a very important celebration."

Inside, the restaurant was a masterpiece of design. It was housed in a former private library, with walls lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books and rolling brass ladders. The lighting was low and amber, casting long shadows across the velvet booths. It was an architect’s dream—classical structure met with modern luxury.

As they were led to a private alcove overlooking the main dining room, Annabeth couldn't help but run her fingers over the edge of the dark wood table. "The joinery on this is incredible," she whispered.

Percy pulled out her chair, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "I knew you’d spend the first ten minutes critiquing the furniture. That’s why I picked it."

"I am not critiquing, I am appreciating," she corrected, though she was smiling.

The meal was a slow, indulgent affair. They started with oysters that tasted of the cold Atlantic—a nod to Percy’s heritage—followed by a truffle risotto so creamy Annabeth almost forgot her own name. Throughout the dinner, Percy was the perfect golden retriever companion. He made her laugh with stories about Tyson’s latest obsession with robotic seals and listened intently as she debated the merits of Brutalist architecture versus Neoclassicism.

He was so gentle, so attentive, that it was easy to forget the man she had seen in the previous days—the man who had coldly dismantled Marcus Thorne’s life. But occasionally, when a waiter hovered a little too long or a man at a nearby table glanced at Annabeth with a bit too much interest, Percy’s posture would shift. His shoulders would square, and his blue eyes would sharpen into something cold and territorial before melting back into softness the moment Annabeth looked at him.

"You're doing it again," Annabeth said, sipping her sparkling water.

"Doing what?" Percy asked, his face a mask of innocence.

"The 'I am a very large shark' look," she said, pointing a fork at him. "Percy, I’m fine. We’re in a library. Nobody is going to hurt me with a first-edition Dickens."

Percy chuckled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "I can't help it. You’re the most precious thing in this room, Annabeth. I just like making sure everyone knows who you belong to."

"I belong to myself," she reminded him with a playful wink. "But I suppose I’m willing to share custody with you."

After dinner, the night was far from over. Percy led her out of the restaurant, but instead of calling the car, he started walking toward a nearby parking garage.

"Where are we going? The car is that way," Annabeth noted, pointing toward the idling town car.

"That car is for the 'Corporate Percy' version of the night," he said, pulling a key fob from his pocket. "This part of the night is for us."

He pressed a button, and the lights of a vintage 1965 convertible—restored to a shimmering sea-foam green—flashed in the shadows of the garage.

"Percy! You finished the restoration?" Annabeth ran her hand along the hood, her eyes glowing.

"Just yesterday. I wanted you to be the first one to ride in it," he said, opening the door for her. "Hop in, Wise Girl. We have a view to catch."

They drove through the city with the top down, the wind whipping through Annabeth’s braids and the neon lights of Times Square reflecting in Percy’s sunglasses. He drove with a relaxed confidence, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console, waiting for her to lace her fingers with his.

They ended up at a private pier in Dumbo, a spot that was technically closed to the public. Percy hopped out and spoke two words to the security guard, who immediately stepped aside with a respectful nod.

"The perks of having your name on the deed," Annabeth teased as they walked toward the edge of the pier.

The view was breathtaking. The Brooklyn Bridge arched over the East River like a crown of lights, and the Manhattan skyline glittered like a mountain of diamonds against the black velvet sky. The water lapped gently against the pilings, a soothing, repetitive sound that always seemed to ground Percy.

He pulled a light blanket from the trunk of the car and spread it out near the railing. They sat down together, Annabeth leaning back against his chest, her head tucked perfectly under his chin.

"This is what I want to build," Annabeth whispered, gesturing to the skyline. "Not just buildings, Percy. Landmarks. Things that make people stop and breathe for a second because they’re so beautiful."

"You’re already doing it," Percy said, his voice low and vibrating against her back. "Every time you draw something, you’re changing the way the world looks. I just want to be the guy standing next to you while you do it."

Annabeth turned in his arms, looking up at him. The moonlight caught the blue of his eyes, making them look almost ethereal. "Why do you do it, Percy? The corporate stuff. The 'Iron Fist' routine. I know you hate the suits and the meetings."

Percy was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting to the dark water. "Because my dad taught me that the ocean is powerful, but it’s also protective. If you have the strength to keep the storms away from the people you love, you use it. I don't care about the money or the title, Annabeth. I care about the fact that as long as I’m a Jackson, I can make sure nobody ever makes you feel small again. I can make sure you have the space to be the genius you are without some hack like Thorne trying to dim your light."

Annabeth felt a lump form in her throat. She knew he was protective, but hearing him say it—knowing that he shouldered the weight of his father’s empire just to act as her shield—was overwhelming.

"You're my golden retriever," she whispered, reaching up to stroke his jaw. "But you're also my hurricane, aren't you?"

"Only for you," he murmured, leaning down to close the gap between them.

The kiss tasted of the sea and the city, of salt and silk. It was slow and deep, a promise whispered in the dark. In that moment, surrounded by the towering glass and steel of a city she was destined to conquer, Annabeth felt completely at home.

As they eventually stood up to leave, Percy wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, pulling her close against the evening chill.

"Ready to go home, Architect?" he asked, his eyes dancing with a mischievous light.

"Almost," she said, looking back at the bridge one last time. "I just realized something."

"What’s that?"

"The bridge's suspension cables? They're slightly out of alignment on the western tower. It’s only by a few inches, but it’s been bothering me all night."

Percy let out a loud, booming laugh that startled a nearby seagull into flight. He scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of flour while she shrieked and swatted at his back.

"That’s it! No more architecture talk tonight! You are officially off duty, Wise Girl!"

"Percy! Put me down! I have a professional reputation!"

"Your professional reputation is safe with me," he shouted to the empty pier, his laughter echoing over the water. "But your boyfriend is hungry for dessert, and I’m pretty sure we have cheesecake in the fridge!"

He carried her all the way back to the car, her giggles mixing with the sound of the city. As he tucked her into the passenger seat and climbed in beside her, the heavy, dark intensity of the corporate world felt a million miles away.

Percy started the engine, the vintage roar filling the air. He looked at Annabeth—her braids a little messy, her smile wide and genuine, her eyes full of dreams—and he knew he would do it all again. He would burn down every firm in New York if it meant keeping that smile on her face.

He reached over, squeezing her hand one last time before shifting into gear.

"I love you, Annabeth."

"I love you too, Percy. Now drive. I want that cheesecake."

The sea-foam green convertible sped off into the neon heart of the city, two prodigies carving their own path through the glass towers, protected by a love that was as deep as the ocean and as solid as stone.