The penthouse felt impossibly empty. Every piece of Damien’s carefully curated world—the marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the leather furniture—now seemed hollow without her laughter, without her scent lingering in the air. Bella’s absence gnawed at him like a living thing, and for the first time, Damien Blackwood felt truly powerless.
He strode across the room, fists clenched, the faint echo of his boots against the marble sounding like a war drum in the vast emptiness. His mind replayed every stolen touch, every whispered confession, every shiver she had gifted him. And yet, each memory now carried the sharp edge of loss, slicing through him like glass.
Damien collapsed into the leather couch, tossing aside his tailor-made suit jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, black
