The penthouse was quiet that night, quieter than usual.
Arielle sat at the vanity, pretending to sort through jewelry boxes while her thoughts churned beneath the calm surface she presented to anyone watching. The storm outside had eased into a light drizzle, city lights reflecting off the wet glass windows.
Kairo had been in his study for hours. That wasn’t unusual — he often worked late, sometimes until dawn — but tonight, something felt different. The silence wasn’t just heavy. It was sharp.
She needed to use it.
Earlier in the day, while Kairo had been meeting someone in the living room, Arielle had overheard fragments of his conversation with one of his men. They’d spoken in low tones, but one sentence stuck with her like a thorn:
"Make sure the Devereux accounts stay frozen unti
