Liam rose slowly from the bed as soft morning light poured through the tall glass walls of the penthouse, washing over the room and the city far below. Everything outside felt distant, muted, unreal. He glanced at his phone. 10:42.
He exhaled under his breath.
His screen was filled with messages. Irina. One after another. Short. Direct. Urgent.
Liam placed the phone back on the bedside table and turned toward the bed.
Lana was still asleep, curled beneath the sheets, hair spread across the pillow, her breathing slow and steady. He stood there for a few seconds just watching her, letting the noise of the world drop away. Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, barely there, careful not to wake her.
Her eyes opened anyway.
She blinked once, then looked up at him, still half lost in sleep. "Morning," she murmured, voice low and lazy.
He smiled. "Didn't mean to wake you."
