The quiet between them wasn’t peace. It was avoidance with a good tailor. Serena unlocked the door slowly, half-hoping he wouldn’t be home. She stepped into the apartment–no, the penthouse. She still couldn’t bring herself to call it home. Too clean. Too still. The kind of place that came with contracts and conditions. Her heels clicked against the floor, swallowed instantly by the space. Dim lights cast long shadows on imported marble. Every object looked curated, expensive, and cold. Dominic’s jacket was draped over the arm of the leather armchair, precisely the way someone in control would leave it. He was here. Of course he was. She exhaled softly and dropped her keys into the bowl near the door ceramic, hand-painted, Italian. Everything had a story in this place, but none of th

