The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse was sharp, crystal clear, and mercilessly bright. It washed over the polished marble, erasing the lingering shadows of midnight.
I was finishing my third espresso at the kitchen island, dressed in a sharp ivory wool suit, reviewing the revised audit reports of Vance Logistics' liquidated shell companies. Sitting on the counter next to my laptop, Lucifer let out a soft, low purr, occasionally reaching out a velvet paw to tap the corner of my tablet.
"He doesn't usually share his morning coffee space with anyone," a crisp, vibrant voice echoed from the grand archway of the foyer.
I looked up instantly.
Standing near the private elevator threshold was a woman whose presence filled the room like a sudden shift
