Ava slipped back into the penthouse just after one in the morning.
The city lights spilled through the floor-to-ceiling glass, turning everything inside into a muted gold and shadow. She moved quietly, heading for the bedroom — and froze.
Liam was sitting in the armchair by the window. No phone, no drink. Just sitting there, his long frame relaxed, one arm draped casually over the armrest.
“Pier 17,” he said, as if greeting her with the weather report.
Her pulse kicked. “You had me followed.”
His mouth curved faintly, but not in amusement. “I didn’t need to. I know his patterns. And I know yours.”
She stepped further into the room, keeping her chin high. “Then you know I went because you left me with questions you wouldn’t answer.”
“You went because you wanted to see if he could mak
