The morning sunlight filtered through Nathaniel’s penthouse windows, casting golden patterns on the silk sheets. Grace stirred, her hair tousled, her hand instinctively reaching out, but the space beside her was empty.
“Nathaniel?” she murmured.
A distant clink echoed from the kitchen. She sat up, her heart still aching from the storm they'd unleashed on Vincent Ashford. But somewhere in that ache was also something new, liberation.
She wrapped the duvet around her and stepped into the living room.
Nathaniel stood barefoot by the counter, pouring coffee, his expression unreadable. His phone lay facedown beside him, tension lining his shoulders.
“You’re up early,” she said, brushing her hair back.
He turned. His eyes met hers, tender, but shadowed.
“I found something,” he said, slidi
