The perimeter breach had been a false alarm—a drunken socialite from the floor below stumbling into the private elevator shaft—but the adrenaline of the night had left Clara utterly drained. Now, twenty hours later, the tension in the penthouse was thick enough to choke on.

Clara stood frozen in f

The heavy oak door of the penthouse clicked shut, the biometric lock engaging with a soft, final beep. Julian was gone.

Clara stood in the center of the vast, sunlit living room, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The faint scent of Julian’s cedar and bergamot cologne still lin

"Clara."

The voice came from the doorway, quiet, deep, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Clara screamed, dropping her phone. It clattered against the hardwood floor. She spun around in the leather chair to find Julian Cross standing in the threshold of the office.

He had taken off his suit jacket,