The night by the fireplace
The living room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the kind that only firelight could produce. Flames danced lazily behind the glass hearth, crackling and sighing as though they were alive, pushing back the chill of the night and wrapping the penthouse in a fragile cocoon of warmth. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretched endlessly—millions of lights blinking like distant stars, beautiful and untouchable. It felt far away, almost unreal, as though the world outside had been muted or paused. Inside the penthouse, time itself seemed suspended, caught somewhere between what was real and what they were pretending to be.
Emilia sat perched on the edge of the couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture composed but tense. Her thoughts were
