LUCAS’S POV
The penthouse smelled of cold marble and industrial linen when we returned at dawn. We had exactly forty-five minutes to shed the exhaustion of the ICU and put on the armor of the Carter Corporation executive branch.
In the master dressing room, the silence was absolute. I stood before the three-way mirror, my hands steady as I selected a charcoal pinstripe suit. It was the most aggressive, commanding cut in my wardrobe. I deliberately chose a high-collared white shirt and a solid burgundy silk tie, knotting it with a precise, military four-in-hand.
I looked at my face in the reflection. The skin beneath my eyes was tight, grayed slightly by the lack of sleep, but the bone structure was a rigid mask. A splash of cold water, a close shave with an antique razor, and a drop of
