The heavy glass and steel doors of the penthouse lobby hadn't even finished sliding shut before Adrian was already across the marble foyer, his long strides cutting through the space with ruthless precision.
He didn't look back. He didn't check to see if the elevator doors were holding. He certainly didn't care about the sharp, frantic click of Lydia's designer heels trying desperately to keep pace with his furious, unyielding rhythm. The sound grated against his nerves, each tap a reminder of everything he'd been trying to ignore for months. Each click felt like an accusation, a demand for attention he could no longer give.
When the private lift chimes echoed on the top floor, Adrian stepped out into the sprawling, minimalist penthouse, instantly shedding his tailored suit jacket and flinging it onto the low-slung Italian leather sofa without breaking stride.
