The lights of the penthouse flickered faintly as a storm rolled in over the city. Rain lashed against the windows, creating a rhythm that echoed the tension in the room. Isabella paced near the fireplace, her mind racing with questions she hadn’t had the chance to ask. Damien, freshly returned from the gala confrontation, had retreated to the bar to pour himself a drink. His silence was as heavy as the air around them.
“How did you do it?” she finally asked, her voice breaking the stillness. “How did you get out of jail?”
Damien turned to her, his dark eyes narrowing. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and Isabella wondered if he would dodge the question. But then he set his glass down and crossed the room, his movements deliberate and measured.
“It wasn’t easy,” he said, his voice low but
