The penthouse felt heavier than usual that evening, as if the walls themselves were closing in with secrets. Aria stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. The crimson gown from the Commission hearing lay discarded on the bed like a shed skin. She had changed into soft black lounge pants and one of Dante’s oversized shirts, the fabric still carrying his scent. It should have comforted her. Instead, it felt like chains.
The updated Project Pawn file burned in her mind. Dante’s signature. Dates that placed it weeks after their first night together—after the kisses, the promises, the way he had held her like she was the only thing anchoring him in his dark world. Had it all been calculated? Was she still just a contingency i
