The air inside Adrian’s penthouse crackled with tension, the city lights outside casting fractured shadows across the floor-to-ceiling windows. Elena stood by the glass, arms folded across her chest, trying to anchor herself in the view.
Below, New York pulsed with indifferent rhythm. Up here, everything was off-kilter.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian said again, his voice low but urgent. “I should have told you sooner.”
She didn’t turn around. “You think?”
“Elena—”
She faced him now, eyes searching. “Your father has people spying on me. Adrian, do you know how insane that sounds?”
“I do,” he said. “Believe me, I do. But that’s how he operates. He’s not above anything when he thinks it might ‘protect the family name.’”
Elena’s laugh was sharp. “And I’m a threat?”
“He doesn’t understand you,”
