Ethan’s alarm went off at 5:30 AM, the sharp tone slicing through the quiet of the penthouse.
He reached over and silenced it immediately. There had been no need for the alarm anyway. He had been awake for almost an hour, lying in the dim light of dawn while replaying every second of last night’s conversation with Isabella Rossetti.
Every word.
Every pause.
Every glance.
His mind dissected the meeting like a machine.
Three years ago, he would have missed the small things. The tiny details that revealed what someone truly thought.
Now he noticed everything.
He remembered how Isabella’s eyes had narrowed just slightly when he mentioned Moscow. He remembered the faint pause before she asked about his investments, the way her fingers had stilled against the champagne glass.
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