~Morgana's POV~
I never thought I'd be the type to stare at a man's hands and imagine them on my skin, but there I was, perched on the edge of my husband's mahogany desk in his corner office, watching Kevin type away like his fingers were weaving spells. The city skyline stretched out behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glittering reminder of the life I was supposed to have... wealthy, secure, adored. But adoration? That had dried up faster than the champagne at our wedding reception two years ago.
Our marriage wasn't born of love; it was a merger, my family's crumbling real estate empire saved by Joaquin's old-money tech fortune. He was always traveling, Tokyo one week, Dubai the next, leaving me in this penthouse prison, rattling around with nothing but echoes and unanswered texts
