The glass-walled elevator hummed as it ascended into the Westwood penthouse, carrying Clara Morgan and a steamer trunk of supplies. Above the city lights, clouds scuttled across a silver moon. Through the transparent walls, she glimpsed stretch of downtown Havenport—her domain of investigation—bathed in electric glow.
Liam Westwood waited when the doors slid open. His tailored suit was immaculate; his expression unreadable. In one hand, he held a sheaf of signed contracts; in the other, a dinner plate wrapped in foil.
“Welcome home," he said, voice steady. He slid the contracts across the marble foyer console. “Sign here, here, and here."
Clara glanced at the fine print: a strict NDA, zero meal breaks, and “continuous availability." She pressed her lips together, recalling the ease of h
