Sienna had forgotten how quiet her Monaco apartment could be. Not peaceful quiet or comforting quiet. It was the kind of quiet that reminded her she had once lived here alone, worked here alone, slept here alone — and had fully expected to keep doing so for years.
The door clicked shut behind her, and dust motes drifted lazily through the slanted afternoon light. Her suitcase wheels bumped over the threshold. The air smelled faintly of old coffee grounds and the lavender candle she’d burned the last night she stayed here. That felt like a lifetime ago.
Luca stepped in behind her, his presence filling the small space instantly. He didn’t belong in apartments like this — too small, too human, too lived‑in. He belonged in penthouses with glass walls and private elevators. He belonged on yac
