The city outside his windows was drowned in a haze of late-night fog and quiet sirens. Tall buildings stood like silent sentinels, lights blinking lazily through the mist. Inside the penthouse office, it was warmer. Quieter. Too quiet.
Rhea shifted in her chair, the soft leather creaking beneath her. She hated that sound. It made her feel seen—like her discomfort had a voice. She glanced at the time again. 11:43 p.m.
“Still no response from Legal,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
Damian looked up from across the room. He had discarded his suit jacket hours ago, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened the collar of his shirt. His eyes were tired, but they were still focused. Still sharp.
“They’re stalling. Probably double-checking everything before they give me bad news,” he said.
She clo
