The morning after the locked door incident felt like the air had been sucked out of the penthouse.
Ella woke up with a headache that started behind her eyes and spread like a slow burn. She lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Alex’s hand had wrapped around her wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind her he could. The deadbolt. The chain. The way his voice had cracked when he said he was protecting what was his. It should have scared her more than it did. Instead it just left her numb.
She got up eventually. Showered. Dressed in jeans and a loose sweater. Walked to the kitchen.
Alex was already there.
Standing at the counter, coffee in hand, staring at his phone. He looked like he hadn’t slept—dark circles, stubble, shirt wrinkled like
