Two days later, I finally broke. I couldn’t fight it anymore. The piece of paper had been haunting me like a ghost, tucked away in my bedside drawer where I thought it would stay forgotten. But it never left me alone. Every time I changed clothes or reached for something inside that drawer, I’d see the folded edge peeking out, like it was daring me.
Tonight, I couldn’t ignore it. My hands trembled as I pulled it out, unfolding the creases slowly, almost reverently, as if it was more than just a scrap of paper. His handwriting stared back at me, bold and messy, like him. An address. Not a hotel, not some random meeting place—no. It was a penthouse. His penthouse. His personal world.
I sat on the edge of my bed staring at it until my chest ached. I knew what this meant. Going there wasn’t
