The penthouse was suffocatingly quiet after Adrian left.
It wasn’t a peaceful or comforting silence. It was the kind of heavy, ambient quiet where every suppressive wall I had built throughout the day began to crumble at once.
I stood in the center of Damon’s living room, surrounded by architectural art, Italian leather, and floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the neon-lit grid of Obsidian City. Everything here belonged to a man who possessed absolute control over his domain, someone who moved through the world with lethal precision.
And somehow, I had just signed away one year of my life to become part of his reality.
Mrs. Cross.
The title still felt like a jagged piece of glass stuck in my throat.
I walked into the massive, open-concept kitchen, mostly because standing still felt da
