Ryder's penthouse looked like something off the cover of a billionaire lifestyle magazine.
It was sleek, masculine cold in a way that felt intentional.
The walls were painted a deep charcoal, the floors a polished dark wood that reflected just enough light from the massive windows facing the city skyline.
There was a pool table in the far corner, untouched. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books that looked like they were chosen more for aesthetic than interest.
But the living room, yeah, that was his favorite spot. Black leather sectional. Minimalist décor. Everything smelled like cedarwood and ambition.
I was curled into the far corner of the couch, arms wrapped around my knees. He stood across from me, hands shoved in his pockets, staring like I was some unsolvable e
