Marcus’s penthouse was exactly what Isabelle expected—sleek, modern, and effortlessly sophisticated. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, casting a golden glow over the expensive furniture and curated art pieces. Everything about it screamed power, success, control.
It was a reflection of the man himself.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?” Marcus asked as he led her inside, his voice casual.
She glanced around, taking in the warm lighting, the deep leather couches, the polished oak floors. “No,” she admitted, setting her purse down on the kitchen island. “I guess I never thought about it.”
Marcus smirked, walking over to the bar cart in the corner. “That’s because I’ve spent too much time taking you to restaurants,” he mused. “I figured it was time to change things
