The room was still. Still enough to hear her own breath, the faint hum of city lights bleeding through the thick penthouse glass. The only sound was the slow, deliberate click of her heels against marble—sharp, echoing.
Rose stood by the window. Not her place. Cassian’s.
Milan glittered below, spread out like spilled diamonds and broken glass. Beautiful. Cold. Pretending to shine like gold while hiding all its rot. Just like the people who owned it. Who ran it. Who ruined it.
She didn’t turn when she heard the door close softly behind her. Didn’t flinch when the click sounded behind her like a secret being locked away.
“You’re early,” she said. Her voice was flat. Icy.
Cassian tossed his phone onto the couch. The soft thud of it landing didn’t cut the tension between them. He slipped
