Liana’s POV
I didn’t sleep.
Not properly.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, watching headlights from passing cars crawl across the cracks like slow-moving insects. Every time I closed my eyes, my brain replayed headlines, and Raphael Blackthorne’s face was calm, unreadable, and dangerous.
His touch ghosted over my skin, phantom heat that wouldn’t fade. Shame burned hotter than fear: I’d let the enemy in, literally, and now the memory was fraying at the edges like cheap paper.
By morning, exhaustion had settled into my bones.
I dressed mechanically. Black trousers. White blouse. Hair twisted into a bun so tight it pulled at my scalp. Armor. That’s what clothes are now.
At Blaise Corps, the air felt heavier than usual.
The lobby screens flickered through performance metrics an
