Alex didn’t come home at all the next evening.
Ella waited until midnight, then one, then two. The penthouse stayed silent except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional siren far below. She sat on the couch with the TV on mute, some late night talk show flickering across the screen, faces laughing without sound. She didn’t laugh. She barely blinked.
At 2:47 a.m. the front door finally opened.
The sound was sloppy—heavy shoulder against the frame, keys scraping metal, a low curse when they fell. Then footsteps, uneven, dragging.
Ella stood up slowly. Heart already racing.
He staggered into the living room.
Suit jacket gone. Shirt half untucked. Tie missing. Hair wrecked. Eyes glassy, bloodshot, pupils huge in the dim light.
He saw her.
Froze.
Then smiled—slow, crooked, da
