The penthouse had gone quiet in the particular way expensive spaces often did at night. Not peaceful. Managed. The fireplace burned low beneath the mounted stone relief while muted city lights stretched endlessly beyond the rain-streaked windows overlooking Artemis Tower. A half-finished tray of food rested untouched on the coffee table beside scattered executive reports, medication bottles, and two abandoned coffee cups gone cold hours ago.
Galathea Brooks stepped out of the private elevator with another stack of review documents balanced against one hip while exhaustion dragged visibly through the lines of her posture. It was a white dress shirt that hung loosely over her structured office clothes today that still carried Cael's scent faintly beneath the sharper perfume of the executive floor.
The moment she stepped fully through the penthouse door, she realized the bedroom lights were still on.
Her pace slowed slightly.
