The morning sun broke over the capital's northern skyline, casting long, warm shafts of light across the open-plan living room of the Zenith penthouse. It was just past eight on a crisp Saturday morning, and for the first time in months, the sharp, persistent buzz of corporate notifications on Jake's phone had been entirely silenced.
Jake walked out of the master bedroom wearing a comfortable grey hoodie and dark jeans, rolling up his sleeves as he headed toward the kitchen.
He didn't get three steps past the hallway before a small, bright face popped out from behind the marble kitchen island. Melissa was already awake, wearing an oversized graphic tee and a pair of fuzzy hotel slippers she had clearly pilfered from the guest bathroom closet.
She froze, her eyes widening as she took him in. For a second, the witty, confident teenager from the central bus station looked utterly paralyzed.
"You're Jake," Melissa stated, her voice dropping an octave as she tried to look serious.
