The downtown office was finally ready.
It wasn't large a converted studio with white brick walls and tall windows that let in too much light. But it was mine. No marble floors, no guards at the door. Just open space, fabric racks, and a small desk that I'd assembled myself after watching three YouTube tutorials.
I'd moved most of my work there two days ago. Damian hadn't said anything when I left the penthouse with boxes. He'd just watched from the hallway, arms crossed, grey eyes unreadable.
"You'll be back," he'd said.
I didn't answer.
Now, standing in the center of my own space, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time: control.
Piper had arranged a meeting with a boutique owner from Brooklyn. Her name was Maya, and she ran a small shop that catered to professional women. If
