Sofia stood outside the doors of Damien’s penthouse building, the night air biting at her skin. Her hands were clenched into fists inside her jacket pockets, knuckles white. She had spent the last few hours tearing through the city, checking every alley between the diner and her apartment, asking strangers, calling Elena’s phone until the battery died. Nothing. No sign of her best friend. The uneasy feeling in her gut had turned into full-blown terror.
She had no choice but to come here.
The doorman recognized her immediately and let her up without question. The private elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened, Damien was already waiting in the living room, looking every bit the composed billionaire in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His expression was carefully neutral
