LUCAS’S POV
I don’t know how long I stood in her hallway after the bedroom door closed.
Minutes. Hours. Time didn’t mean anything anymore.
Eventually my legs carried me out of her apartment, down the elevator, into the cold night air. I don’t remember the drive home. I just know I ended up here—in my penthouse, lights off, city glittering below like it didn’t give a damn that my whole world had just collapsed.
Bottles lined the coffee table. Three of them empty. One half gone. The expensive whiskey I usually sip slowly now tasted like nothing. I kept pouring anyway, hoping the burn would drown out the ache.
It didn’t.
I sat hunched forward on the couch, elbows on my knees, glass dangling between my fingers. My tie was long gone, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. I looked like he
