The keycard burned in my palm the entire shuttle ride.
I told myself I was only going to look. Just see the building. Confirm it existed before I decided anything.
But when the private elevator opened on the fourteenth floor at 7:42 p.m., I already knew I was lying to myself.
Unit 1401 was quiet luxury—open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering city, soft lighting that felt intentionally soothing. The kitchen island held a single vase of white roses and a note in Shawn’s precise handwriting.
Thesis materials delivered to the study. Refrigerator stocked. Sleep here tonight. We’ll negotiate terms tomorrow.
No signature. He didn’t need one.
I set my bag down, heart hammering. The air smelled faintly of him—sandalwood, crisp linen, and something darker that made my thighs
