The morning air was thick with anticipation. Isabella woke to find Damien already gone from the bedroom, his side of the bed cold. A pang of unease hit her chest as she wrapped herself in a silk robe and padded into the living area. The penthouse felt different—tenser, as though the very walls were bracing for something monumental.
Victor was sitting on the couch, a coffee in one hand, and a tablet in the other. He looked up as she entered, his usual smirk replaced with a sombre expression.
“Morning,” he greeted, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “Damien’s on the phone. Big day ahead.”
“Big day for what?” Isabella asked, her stomach twisting with unease.
Victor leaned back, gesturing to the files scattered across the coffee table. “Antonov and Claire are moving faster than expected.
