The silence that followed their confrontation the night before seemed to hang in the penthouse like an invisible fog. Tracy woke with a heaviness in her chest, replaying Alex’s face in her mind—the fleeting c***k in his perfect composure, the way his eyes had hardened again as though he regretted showing her anything at all.
She sat up in bed, hugging her knees beneath the silky sheets he had insisted on having brought in for her. The faint smell of his cologne still lingered in the air, sharp and masculine, reminding her of how close he had stood when he’d murmured, “You know nothing about me, Tracy.”
But maybe… maybe she wanted to.
The morning stretched slowly. She showered, dressed in one of the casual outfits that had been carefully selected by his personal shopper, and padded baref
