Ella stepped out of the car and stood on the curb in front of her modest apartment building, the night still wrapped tightly around Manhattan. She waited until the driver pulled away before releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Dinner had gone smoothly—on the surface. She had smiled, laughed when expected, made light conversation, and deflected any probing questions with the ease of someone who had grown up learning how to wear masks. She’d even managed to charm Maya, though there was something in the journalist’s eyes that made Ella nervous. Maya watched people too closely, with the kind of attention that could unravel a person if given the time.
Ella unlocked her front door and stepped into the stillness of her apartment. The contrast from the Blake penthouse was
