The penthouse remained dim long after the argument ended.
Rain moved softly against the towering windows overlooking Artemis Tower while the fireplace burned low beneath the carved stone relief near the living room wall. The untouched reports still littered the coffee table beside cold coffee and abandoned medication strips, evidence of two people too emotionally exhausted to continue pretending productivity mattered tonight.
Galathea Brooks remained tucked against Cael Alexander's chest on the charcoal sofa while his arm stayed wrapped firmly around her waist beneath another one of his shirts that she made a habit of wearing over her office clothes with a little spritz of his perfume. His breathing had steadied sometime during the silence that followed their near-collapse into each other.
But neither of them had actually calmed down.
Galathea understood his fear now.
That almost made it worse.
