The penthouse was obscene.
That was Naomi's first thought as the elevator doors slid open to reveal forty floors of glass, steel, and silence so complete it had its own weight. Floor-to-ceiling windows swallowed the city whole. The furniture was the kind of beautiful that didn't invite touch — white marble, dark wood, low lighting that made everything look like a photograph of a life, not a life itself.
Damian walked ahead of her without looking back, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair with casual authority.
"Guest suite is the second door on the left," he said. "My housekeeper, Mrs. Adaeze, will bring whatever you need. Don't go into the east wing."
Naomi blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The east wing." He turned now, his gaze flat. "It's off limits."
She would have laughed,
