The car ride back to the penthouse was suffocating.
Not a word passed between them, but the silence wasn’t empty—it was brimming, like a storm waiting for the sky to split. Alex’s grip on Tracy’s hand hadn’t loosened once since he pulled her from the gala, his thumb pressed so firmly against her skin it was almost bruising.
The city lights bled past the tinted glass, streaks of gold and white blurring into shadows, but all Tracy could see was Alex’s profile: the rigid line of his jaw, the muscle ticking near his temple, the way his eyes never moved from the darkness outside.
When the car finally slid to a stop in front of the penthouse, Alex was out before the driver could open the door. Tracy followed, her heels clicking against the pavement, her pulse echoing louder than the sound.
In
