Rain traced the Manhattan skyline like a secret, each droplet a whisper of what had been and what would never be again. In the penthouse Ava now shared with Liam Mateo, the quiet was oppressive. The city buzzed below them, alive and uncaring, but up here nothing stirred but ghosts.
She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the hem of her silk robe brushing her thighs, a steaming mug of untouched tea in her hand. The city lights flickered in her eyes like memories.
Behind her, Liam watched.
He had learned by now that there were silences Ava carried that he couldn't fill, no matter how many rooms he offered, no matter how many deals he signed. She was the storm he invited in, and he had drowned in her long before she ever whispered his name again.
But tonight, something was different.
"You're not sleeping," he said finally.
Ava's reflection didn't flinch.
"Neither are you," she replied softly.
