The evening didn’t arrive all at once. It seeped in slowly, like it had nowhere better to be. The sky outside the windows softened from blue to amber, the city lights flickering on one by one below us. Somewhere between afternoon and night, the penthouse shifted too—less guarded, less sharp, more… lived in.
Asher was barefoot.
That alone should’ve been illegal.
He stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, hair slightly out of place like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He was cutting vegetables with the same focus he used when handling weapons or negotiations, except this time it felt oddly domestic.
I leaned against the counter, watching him for longer than necessary.
“You know,” I said, “if anyone saw you right now, they’d never believe you’re terrifying.”
