The tension between Aurora Sage and Logan Mason was no longer the kind of quiet current hidden beneath the surface. It had become something visible, palpable, like a storm building before a downpour—unavoidable and heavy with threat.
Aurora had spent the entire morning pacing the confines of Logan's penthouse suite. The air outside was bright, Los Angeles sunlight flooding through the tall glass windows, but none of it reached her. She felt caged, restless, every sense heightened by the memory of the previous night—the paparazzi flashes, the endless whispers, Logan's arrogance, and the way he had looked at her afterward, as though she was the only thing that could anchor him when the world tried to devour him.
The irony wasn't lost on her. She was supposed to destroy him, not anchor him.
