The private elevator ride to the top floor took exactly forty-seven seconds. I knew this because Lucas told me while we ascended, his voice calm as he explained about wind resistance and Swiss engineering.
"Fascinating," I said, watching the numbers climb. "I own an elevator that compensates for wind, but I cannot remember my own mother's face."
His left ear twitched. "Your mother's photograph is in the library. I can show you when we arrive."
I stared at him. "You have a photograph of my mother."
"I have photographs of everything, Ms. Chen. It is my job to preserve what you might need."
The doors opened before I could respond, and I stepped into my home.
The first thing I noticed was the light. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area, and the city sprawled below like a glittering carpet. I could see the river, the bridges, and tiny cars moving through streets I did not recognize. It felt like standing on top of a world I had conquered and then forgotten.
The second thing I noticed was how cold it felt. Not the temperature. Lucas had probably adjusted that remotely. I mean cold the way a museum is cold. The furniture was expensive and minimalist. The art was abstract and tasteful. Everything was shades of gray, black, and white. There were no family photos, no messy books, no half-empty coffee mugs. Nothing that suggested a human being lived here.
"This is my home," I said slowly.
"Yes, Ms. Chen."
"It does not look like anyone lives here."
Lucas was quiet for a moment. His ears cycled through pink before settling. "You preferred minimalism. Clutter was inefficient."
"Inefficient," I repeated. "I looked at this beautiful, empty penthouse and thought it needed to be more efficient."
"You were very focused on optimization. In all areas of your life."
I walked further inside. My footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Echoed. In my own home. The sound bounced off the high ceilings and came back to me smaller than it had left.
"What about the other two floors?" I asked.
"The floor above contains your private quarters. The floor below contains amenities: a gym, spa, home theater, wine cellar, and a small art gallery you never visit."
"A wine cellar and an art gallery."
"Yes."
"Do I drink wine?"
"You have an extensive collection. I am not aware of you ever opening a bottle."
"Of course not. That would be inefficient."
His mouth twitched. That tiny almost-smile that escaped whenever I surprised him. His ears were pink, and he was looking at that point above my shoulder again. I realized he had probably spent six years in this penthouse without ever feeling like he belonged here either.
"Lucas," I said. His ears went red before I finished his name. "Where do you go when you are not here?"
The question caught him off guard. "I have an apartment in the city. Modest but adequate."
"And when you are here, where do you actually be?"
"I have a study adjacent to the main living area. You designated it as my workspace."
"So you are always here but not here. In a separate room. Working."
"That is my role, Ms. Chen."
"That sounds incredibly lonely."
His ears went crimson. He stared at that point above my shoulder as if his life depended on it. "It is efficient, and efficiency is what you have always valued."
"That is not what I asked."
He did not respond. His ears stayed crimson, and I noticed the faint shadows under his eyes. He had not been sleeping. He had been lying awake in his modest apartment, wondering if I would ever wake up and remember him.
"Show me the rest," I said. "Everything."
He led me through the penthouse like a museum guide. The kitchen with appliances never used. The dining room where I ate alone at a table that seated twelve. The living room with furniture that existed only to be looked at. Each room was beautiful and cold, and each one made my chest tighter.
And then we reached the bedroom.
It was enormous, covered in white linens so pristine they looked untouched by human skin. But it was the closet that stopped me. When Lucas opened the door, I found myself standing in a room the size of a small boutique. Racks of clothing organized by color and type.
Black. White. Gray. Black. White. Gray. Over and over.
"Did I own anything with actual color?" I asked, running my fingers along identical black blazers.
"You preferred neutral tones. They reduced decision fatigue."
"Decision fatigue. Of course."
I kept searching, pushing past black trousers and white blouses. Everything was pristine and soulless. I was about to give up when I saw it.
At the very back, shoved behind a row of black heels like something shameful, was a flash of pink.
Bright, obnoxious, unapologetic pink.
I pulled it out. The fabric was soft and worn, washed so many times it felt like a second skin. It was a pajama set covered in unicorns with purple manes and sparkly silver horns. There was a small brown stain on one sleeve. Coffee or chocolate. Something that said this had been loved.
A sticky note was attached to the collar. Messy, loopy handwriting.
"For emergency cuddles. Sophie."
"Sophie," I said aloud. The name felt warm, like honey.
Lucas appeared in the doorway. His expression softened when he saw what I was holding. Relief flickered in his eyes.
"Sophie Chen," he said quietly. "No relation. She is your friend. She gave you those pajamas three years ago."
"I have a friend."
"Yes."
"A friend who gives me unicorn pajamas for emergency cuddles and writes sticky notes with terrible handwriting."
"Apparently."
I pressed the pajamas to my face. They smelled like vanilla and comfort. My body remembered what my mind could not. In this cold, perfect penthouse full of things I never used, this ridiculous pajama set was the only thing that felt real.
"Why is this the only thing in this entire penthouse that feels real?" I asked.
Lucas was quiet for a long moment. "Because it was given with love, Ms. Chen. Not purchased with wealth."
I looked at him. This impossibly proper man who had spent six years watching me drown in my own efficiency. His ears were pink, and he was looking at that point above my shoulder like he always did when he was feeling too much.
"Thank you," I said. "For staying."
His ears went crimson. "It is my role."
"No," I said, clutching the pajamas. "It is not."
I looked down at the unicorns, at Sophie's messy handwriting, at the only evidence that the woman I used to be had ever let anyone love her.
"I am going to change," I said. "And then I am going to find Sophie."
Lucas nodded once. His ears stayed red, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
I did not know who Sophie was or why she had given me emergency cuddles. I did not know what other secrets this penthouse held. But I knew one thing: I was done being the woman who owned everything and felt nothing.
Tomorrow, I would start searching for Sophie.
Tonight, I would let the unicorns do their work.