The weeks that followed were a blur of stolen moments and hidden passions. The penthouse, once a place of sterile silence and awkward tension, became a playground of sensory exploration.
Dominic and Lila developed a secret language. A certain look across the dinner table, a lingering touch in the hallway, a specific way Lila would hum while she was studying in the living room—all of it were signals.
One Tuesday afternoon, Dominic was in his home office, reviewing contracts for a new urban development project. The door creaked open, and Lila slipped inside. She was wearing a school skirt and a white blouse, but she had forgotten her undershirt, and the thin fabric left little to the imagination.
"I'm struggling with my history essay," she said, leaning over his desk.
Dominic didn't look
