The penthouse was silent when they returned from the gala.
It was past midnight. The city below was still awake—lights in buildings, cars on streets, the hum of Manhattan that never actually slept.
But the penthouse felt like it existed outside of time, in a space where only Elena and Alexander existed.
Elena's feet hurt from the heels. Her face hurt from smiling. Her heart hurt from the proximity to Alexander, from the dancing, from the hand-holding, from everything that was happening that shouldn't be happening according to the contract.
"Champagne?" Alexander asked.
"I thought I was only supposed to have one glass," Elena said.
"That was for the gala," Alexander said. "Now we're home."
He moved through the penthouse like he actually lived there instead of just occupying the spac
