Dario’s return to the penthouse that evening carried a careful quiet. I had spent the two days he was away preparing, reviewing every message I had exchanged with Rohan and compiling a full report on the details shared. The apartment felt emptier without him, the marble counter missing the familiar ritual of his espresso preparation. When the door opened and he stepped inside, suitcase in hand, my heart tightened with a mix of relief and anxiety.
He looked tired but composed, his dark eyes meeting mine with a measured intensity. “I am back,” he said simply, setting the bag down.
I crossed the room and stopped a respectful distance away. “I am glad. I missed you. Dinner is ready if you are hungry. We can talk afterward.”
We ate at the dining table, the city lights visible through the win
