The storm outside had nothing on the one that raged within the penthouse.
Blythe stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the ruins of what had once been order—shattered glass underfoot, papers scattered like fallen feathers, and the metallic scent of something sharp and final hanging in the air. Her breath hitched, ragged, as she stared at the door Everett had just slammed shut behind him, his absence vibrating through the walls like a wound that refused to close.
He had come back just to destroy her again.
This time not with hands or sharp words, but with the full weight of his secrets, crashing down like a ceiling made of steel and lies. She had opened a box she wasn’t supposed to touch, a folder buried in the encrypted shadows of Gala’s private server. It had taken her weeks t
