Saturday morning started with protocol.
She arrived at his penthouse at noon as agreed, letting herself in with the key he’d given her two weeks ago. The weight of it in her purse still felt significant—symbolic of the access she’d been granted, the trust she’d earned. Permission to enter his space without knocking. Permission to exist in his world as something more than a guest.
The penthouse was quiet when she entered, the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the space feel almost cathedral-like. She could hear water running somewhere deeper in the apartment. The shower, probably. He was meticulous about his routines.
She set down her bag in the foyer. Removed her jacket. Found herself gravitating toward the kitchen, where she knew the coffee would be
