(LANCE )
The penthouse felt like a gilded cage by the second week of house arrest. Morning light slanted through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above the marble floors. The ankle monitor gave its familiar soft chime every few hours — a polite electronic heartbeat that marked the boundaries of my new world. The air carried the comforting scents of fresh-ground coffee, warm croissants from the monitored kitchen, and the faint floral notes of Eliona’s tea as she moved quietly through the space.
I stood at the dining table reviewing the latest compliance report while Eliona refilled my mug. The bruise on her cheek had nearly vanished, but the memory of her hooded and bound in that cold storage room still tightened my chest whenever I looked at her. She set the mug down and
