The aftermath of the courthouse was a media firestorm, but inside Elara’s penthouse, the world was quiet. Lucian stood in the kitchen, not as a titan of industry, but as a man struggling to understand the mechanics of a high-end grilled cheese sandwich.
"You’re burning the butter," Elara said, her voice coming from the doorway.
Lucian jumped, nearly dropping the spatula. He looked over his shoulder, a smear of flour on his cheek. "I thought… I thought if I made dinner for the kids, it would give you a break. Julian had an emergency call at the hospital."
Elara walked over, gently taking the spatula from his hand. Their fingers brushed—a brief, searing contact that made Lucian’s heart hammer against his ribs. She didn't pull away immediately. Instead, she looked at the mess on her marble
