Elena’s POV
It had been a few days since I left. My apartment was colder than I remembered. Not just because of the early evening chill seeping through the window frame, but because it had been empty for so long, untouched by laughter or warm hands, by the scent of garlic and crushed basil, by the weight of Adrian’s arm draped over me in the middle of the night.
I sat cross-legged on the couch, a mug of tea cooling between my palms. I’d unpacked only the essentials. Toothbrush. Sleep shirt. Laptop. As if a part of me still refused to accept this was more than a brief retreat, but the silence was uncomfortably honest. It didn’t coddle me with the same illusions Adrian’s penthouse did. It left me face-to-face with myself and the fragile things I didn’t want to admit: that I was scared, tha
