The soft hum of the city filtered through the half-drawn curtains as Elena sat across from Damian in his penthouse office. The glow of the skyline painted his face in gold and shadow—too handsome, too composed for someone who’d just been accused of lying.
“You said you were in Geneva,” she began, her voice steady but her hands cold. “But your assistant told me you canceled the trip.”
Damian’s jaw flexed. “I did go. Briefly. There must’ve been a mix-up.”
“A mix-up?” she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping. “Damian, you were seen at the docks. At midnight.”
The silence between them stretched like a wire ready to snap. He leaned back, eyes unreadable, and for the first time, she noticed how every movement of his was deliberate—calculated.
“Elena,” he said finally, his tone low, almost gent
