Lydia POV
Morning arrives without sound.
No footsteps in the hallway.
No low murmur of Adrian’s voice on early calls.
No quiet movement signaling that the apartment is already awake before I am.
Just silence.
It feels wrong immediately.
The penthouse has always been quiet, but not empty. Adrian’s presence used to exist like pressure in the air, invisible but constant. Even when we weren’t speaking, I knew exactly where he was. Working. Watching markets. Reading reports at impossible hours.
Now the space feels… unoccupied.
I sit up slowly, one hand resting instinctively over my stomach before I’m fully conscious of the movement.
The habit formed quickly.
Too quickly.
Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, pale and cold against the marble floors. My side of the bed is warm.
