Silas stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the grey skyline of the city blurring into a haze of morning smog. He held a ceramic mug, the heat seeping into his palms. The silence of the penthouse usually offered him peace, but today, the air felt electric, charged with a frequency he had spent months trying to ignore.
The click-clack of heels echoed against the marble floor.
"Coffee smells great," Elena said.
Silas did not turn immediately. He closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. When he finally looked, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest.
She wore a white ribbed crop top that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her heavy breasts strained against the thin fabric, the material stretched so tight it looked ready to snap. Below, a black mini-skirt barely grazed the top
