The penthouse felt too quiet that afternoon. I was curled on the couch in the living room, legs tucked under me, scrolling through old lecture notes on my laptop. Damien was in his office down the hall, voice low on some conference call. I could hear the occasional sharp word drift out, but nothing clear. Just enough to remind me he was there.
I had gotten used to the rhythm of it. Him working. Me studying. The occasional interruption when he would walk in, pull me into his lap, and kiss me until I forgot what chapter I was on. It was starting to feel normal, comfortable and dangerous.
The Intercom rang out. I glanced toward the hallway. Damien's voice paused on the call.
The doorman’s voice popped through the speaker. “Sir, there's a woman at the private entrance. She says she's your
