It had been two days since the gala, and the penthouse still smelled like absence.
Morning arrived like a verdict. Sunlight carved the room into sharp shapes, cool across the sheets. I lay still and listened for a second breath that wasn’t mine. Nothing. Only the hush of the penthouse and the faint hum of the skyline far below.
The silver dress from the gala hung over a chair, dim now, a shadow of performance. My heels waited beside it like accusations. I got up, showered until the air turned to steam, then colder, until the glass cleared and my face steadied. Bare skin, wet hair, eyes that had learned how to stay calm even when the rest of me wasn’t.
In the kitchen everything gleamed, fruit lined in a bowl, cutlery in perfect symmetry, a single espresso cup placed upside down with the
