The penthouse had never felt so hollow.
Ella lay in the dark, eyes wide open, listening to the city hum far below the windows. The clock on her nightstand said 2:41 a.m. She’d heard the last woman leave twenty minutes ago—same pattern, same abrupt ending, same door closing with that quiet finality. Tonight’s girl had sounded confused, almost hurt. Ella couldn’t blame her.
She waited for the usual aftermath.
Alex pacing the hallway, pouring another drink, slamming a cabinet. But tonight there was nothing.
Just silence.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Coming closer.
They stopped right outside her door.
She held her breath.
A long beat passed.
Then a soft knock. Barely there.
She didn’t move.
Another knock. Firmer.
“Ella.”
His voice came through the wood, low and rough, cracked at
