### Julian's POV
I drove back to the penthouse in my wet clothes. City lights blurred across the windshield. Rainwater followed me out of the private elevator and left footprints across the marble floor.
The apartment was silent. Clara usually left classical music playing through the speakers she had installed, even when she worked late. The living room often smelled of her jasmine tea.
That night, I heard the elevator close behind me and the hum of the refrigerator. The rooms were large enough to return every sound.
I dropped my jacket. “Clara, I need a towel.”
The words came out before I remembered she had left.
I went to the wine cellar and opened the cabinet. Her tea was gone. So was my favorite single malt, the bottle she had tracked down at a small distillery in Scotland after
