Chapter 17
The phone was a secret so loud it seemed to have its own heartbeat in her pocket. She could feel its presence against her leg like a small, warm stone. But she knew she could not keep it on her person. Not for long. Lucien’s searches were too frequent, too casual. His hands on her personal phone, scrolling through her messages “by accident.” His fingers dipping into her bag to “find a mint” or “grab a pen.” They were not searches with a warrant. They were regular, friendly inspections, a habit he had to remind them both that everything in his world was open to him.
The phone could not go home. The penthouse was his domain, every inch of it. A drawer, a shoebox, a folded sweater—nowhere was safe from his easy, wandering gaze.
So she took it to the only place that felt like it
