The sun had barely begun to streak the New York skyline with pale gold when the locks on Elara’s penthouse door clicked.
Elara hadn't slept. She had spent the night leaning against that very door, listening to the muffled sounds of Lucian’s occasional coughs and the silence of a man who was actually keeping his word. When she finally opened it, her heart skipped.
Lucian was still there.
He was slumped against the doorframe, his expensive navy sweater damp and wrinkled, his jaw covered in dark stubble. He looked exhausted, but the moment he heard the door, his eyes snapped open. He scrambled to his feet, wincing as his cramped muscles protested.
"You’re still here," Elara whispered, her voice thick with a mix of disbelief and something she refused to call pity.
"I told you," Lucian sai
