Gérard returned to the penthouse, his expression unreadable. Just as instructed, his men were stationed outside the door, standing guard. They straightened at his presence, greeting him with quiet respect. He gave a brief nod in acknowledgment, and they dispersed without question.
Once inside, he locked the door behind him and headed straight for the bedroom.
The moment he stepped in, he paused.
She was still asleep, curled beneath the blanket, her small form barely visible under its folds. The sight made something in him settle, his chest easing as he drew in a slow, steady breath.
But he didn't approach her immediately.
Instead, he turned toward the bathroom. The scent of blood still clung faintly to him Félix's blood and he refused to let her wake to that. A quick shower later, he emerged dressed in loose sweats, his hair towel-dried and still slightly damp.
Only then did he move toward the bed.
