The silence in the penthouse felt like a living thing—thick, suffocating, and waiting to explode.
Malia stood frozen near the window, her pulse hammering as Kieth’s thumb swiped across her phone screen. Every flick, every click sounded like a gun c*****g in the dark. She wanted to scream, to grab it from him, to explain—no, to lie—but her body refused to move.
“Stop,” she whispered. Her voice barely carried over the low hum of the city outside.
“Kieth, please, stop.”
He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were locked on the screen, brows furrowed in that cold, unreadable way that made her stomach knot. “You’ve been receiving calls from a blocked number,” he said evenly. “Late at night. Multiple times a week.”
Her throat tightened. “It’s not what you think—”
He finally looked up, his
