The moment Cassie stepped into the penthouse that evening, she felt it in her chest. The final c***k. That quiet snapping of a thread stretched too far. She dropped her bag on the couch and stared at the sterile perfection around her. The untouched vases. The too-clean marble. The silence that always made her feel like a guest instead of someone who belonged.
She had tried.
God, she had tried. Tried to understand Luke. Tried to read through the ice he threw up around himself. Tried to tell herself she could keep her heart locked away. But she couldn’t do it anymore.
Not when he looked through her like glass. Not when she heard him pacing at night but refusing to speak. Not when he poured all his attention into signing that Tokyo deal and left her out like an afterthought.
She opened he
