The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. Maria stepped into Ethan Grant’s penthouse and closed the door gently behind her. She slipped off her heels by the entrance, her shoulders dropping as if shedding a heavy mask she’d worn all day.
Before she could speak, Ethan crossed the room.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
“There you are.”
He cupped her cheek, brushed a lingering kiss to her forehead, then pressed his lips briefly to hers: familiar, unhurried, like a habit neither of them had ever truly broken.
When he pulled back, his thumb still grazed her skin.
“You kept me waiting.”
Maria laughed softly, resting a hand light against his chest. “Peter had another late meeting.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Peter’s cousin, Ethan, lifted an eyebrow, amusement glinti
