Emma didn't recognize the apartment.
She'd gotten the address from Tyler's texts. A penthouse in the financial district. When the elevator doors opened, she stepped into a space that looked like something from a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors. Furniture that probably cost more than she made in a year.
This wasn't the studio apartment Tyler had been living in.
"Tyler?" she called out.
He came out of the bedroom and stopped when he saw her. For a second, neither of them spoke.
He looked good. Too good. Color in his cheeks. No weight loss. He was wearing a designer shirt she'd never seen before.
"Em. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you," Emma said. "Check on your recovery."
She walked past him into the kitchen. Everything was pristine. Unused. The refrige
