The penthouse was silent, empty, yet every corner seemed to echo with Bella’s absence. Damien’s gaze swept across the room, lingering on the spaces where she had laughed, whispered, and surrendered to him. The sheets they had shared were cold now, devoid of her warmth, but in his mind, they still bore the memory of her soft moans, the curve of her body, the fire that had consumed him last night.
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly—a rare crack in his otherwise unshakable control. Rage, lust, and grief twisted together in a perfect storm, leaving him raw, exposed, and dangerously close to losing himself entirely. “Where the hell are you, Bella?” he muttered, voice low but feral, echoing off the marble walls.
Every detail of her presence haunted him. The curve of her
