The elevator doors slide open to my private floor with a soft chime that feels insulting in its gentleness.
Nothing in me is gentle anymore.
Not after tonight.
Not after nearly losing her.
My penthouse is dark except for the winter lights pulsing blue along the glass wall — a holiday decoration my assistant insisted on putting up. Normally they’d look elegant.
Tonight, they look like a glitching heartbeat.
I step inside, loosen my collar, and breathe through the ache lodged in my chest. Luna’s scent still clings to me — that faint sweetness of gasoline, adrenaline, and warmth.
A reminder. A wound.
A curse.
I walk straight to the whiskey, pour far too much, and down it without tasting a drop.
The burn does nothing.
My reflection in the window stares back — fractured by snow outsi
