Damien did not take her to the east wing.
Instead, he drove to a building Aria had never seen – glass and steel, shorter than Blackwood Tower, tucked between an art gallery and a restaurant she could not afford. The lobby held one guard, one elevator, and no name on the directory.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"My apartment." He killed the engine. "The one Victor does not know about."
He led her inside. The elevator required a fingerprint and a code. The hallway held no photographs, no decorations, nothing that suggested anyone lived here. Damien unlocked the door with a key instead of a card.
The apartment inside was smaller than she expected. A couch. A kitchen. A single window facing a brick wall. No luxury. No staff. Just a man who had been hiding from his own shadow.
"You live here
