The silence in the penthouse was no longer warm or comforting. It had turned heavy, saturated with the scent of the dying rain outside and the lingering, musk-filled heat of our bodies. Damian’s heart beat steady against my ear, a rhythmic thrum that usually grounded me, but today his muscles were taut, like a bowstring pulled to its absolute limit. I waited, my breath held, my own heart hammering against my ribs, as he stared into the dark shadows of the ceiling. His eyes weren't seeing the luxury of our bedroom; they were seeing a ghost from a decade ago.
"Victoria wasn't just my fiancée," he began, his voice so low and raspy it was barely a whisper. He shifted, pulling the silk sheet higher around us, but his touch felt distant, as if he were already halfway back in time. "She was the
