The quiet between them was louder than any fight they’d ever had.
Calla stood by the window of the penthouse, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Outside, the city sparkled like a lie — beautiful, untouchable, distant. Behind her, Damian lingered by the fireplace, silent, unmoving, watching her like she might disappear if he blinked.
He hadn’t said a word since the gala.
Not when they got into the car. Not when she tossed her heels across the room and muttered that she was done pretending. Not even when she asked him, “Did you love her?”
Meaning Bianca.
Meaning everything she had suspected since the moment his past came crashing into their present.
Now, they existed in a pause.
“Say something,” Calla finally whispered, turning around.
Damian’s throat bobbed, and he dragged a
