The cold air of the New York night seeped through the cracks of Damon’s penthouse windows, a silent reminder that the world outside never slept. But inside, the storm brewing between him and Alina was far deadlier than anything beyond these walls.
Alina sat on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid. Damon stood near the window, his back to her, one hand gripping a glass of whiskey while the other curled into a tight fist at his side.
Minutes stretched between them, neither speaking, neither daring to move. The fight from earlier still lingered in the air—her words, his silence, the unshakable truth that their worlds were colliding in a way neither of them could control.
