The morning after the confrontation felt like a hangover without the drinking.
Ella woke up with her head pounding, eyes gritty from crying. She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city stir outside—horns blaring, trucks rumbling, life moving on like nothing had happened. Inside the penthouse, it was too quiet. Too still.
She rolled out of bed, pulled on a robe, and went to the kitchen.
Alex was already there.
Standing at the counter, scrolling his phone, coffee mug in hand. He didn’t look up when she came in.
“Morning,” she said quietly.
He grunted. Didn’t look at her.
She poured her own coffee. Kept her back to him. Felt his eyes on her anyway.
“You sleep okay?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded. Didn’t push.
They stood there in silence. She sipped her co
