The next morning came gray and heavy, the kind of New York winter light that makes everything feel smaller.
Ella woke up with her eyes swollen, cheeks stiff from dried tears. She lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city wake up outside—sirens, horns, the low rumble of delivery trucks. Inside the penthouse, it was dead quiet.
No footsteps in the hall. No coffee brewing. No sign that Alex had gotten up yet.
She rolled out of bed, padded to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face until her skin stung. Looked at herself in the mirror—red-rimmed eyes, messy hair, the same tired girl staring back. She brushed her teeth, pulled her hair into a loose knot, changed into jeans and a soft sweater. Tried to look normal. Felt anything but.
When she walked into
