The penthouse was too quiet.
I sat on the couch with my legs tucked under me, staring at the photos spread across the coffee table. They felt like evidence of a crime I didn't commit. The club. The stage. The red lipstick. The men with hungry eyes. All of it, frozen in glossy black and white.
The TV was off. The only light came from the city beyond the window, millions of tiny stars that didn't care about me.
I didn't know what time it was. I'd stopped checking. Damian had been gone for hours, and every minute that passed felt like another weight added to my chest.
The elevator dinged.
I sat up.
He walked in slowly, like every step cost him something. His tie was gone. His shirt was wrinkled. His hair was a mess, like he'd been running his hands through it all day. But it was his eye
