Alessandro's marriage was dying in the same penthouse where his relationship with Sienna had ended.
Different penthouse, same outcome.
He stood at the windows of the Tribeca apartment he shared with Vanessa, watching sunrise paint the Hudson, trying to remember the last time he'd felt anything other than numb.
Three weeks since the gallery. Three weeks of Vanessa's cold silence. Three weeks of separate bedrooms and separate lives.
His phone sat dark on the counter. No messages from Sienna. She hadn't responded to his texts. Not the apology. Not "I just want to talk." Not even the drunk midnight message: I miss you.
Read. Not answered.
"You look pathetic."
Vanessa stood in the doorway, already dressed in cream silk and tailored pants, expression glacial.
"Good morning to you too," A
