The penthouse felt colder that evening, not from the temperature, but from the emotional divide that had crept in between Celeste and Damien. The air buzzed with unsaid words, old wounds reopened, and fears neither had voiced yet. The empire they were building had withstood attacks from the outside, but the cracks inside were more dangerous, subtle, splintering, and deeply personal.
Damien stood by the expansive windows, staring out at the city as if it could offer him answers. His reflection stared back, worn and conflicted. Behind him, Celeste sat rigid on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around herself, still wearing the same hoodie she had pulled on after waking from her nap. The warmth of earlier, of soft touches and whispered dreams, had faded.
“I don’t understand,” she said qui
