Amira developed a rhythm, if it could be called that. Wake up. Sip coffee alone. Pretend she had something to do. Wander silent halls lined with priceless art. Stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows, wondering what her life looked like from below.

Jaxon was a shadow in the penthouse. He came and went with no explanation. Fallon popped in and out with reminders, questions, deliveries, but never stayed longer than necessary. Amira didn’t blame her. The place felt too big for one heart to survive in.

On the fifth night, sleep refused to come. She got out of bed and padded barefoot through the dark hallway, aimless. That’s when she saw the soft glow coming from a room she hadn’t noticed before.

The library.

She opened the door gently. Inside was warmth—leather chairs, amber sconces, thick carpets, and shelves of books that looked older than her. Jaxon sat in the far corner, a book in hand, a glass of something dark on the table beside him.

He didn’t flinch. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Is that obvious?”

She walked in slowly, taking in the rows of spines and the rare comfort the room offered.

“I didn’t know you read,” she said.

He glanced up. “Surprised?”

“A little.”

He closed the book. “Because I’m rich or because I don’t talk about anything real?”

“Both.”

She sat across from him, tucking her legs beneath her. “Do you ever talk about anything real?”

He studied her for a beat. “Not unless I have to.”

“Do you ever feel anything real?”

He didn’t blink. “That’s not a safe question.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might answer.”

They sat in silence for a while. For once, it didn’t feel like tension. Just space being shared.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.

Amira tilted her head. “Let me guess—you expected someone quieter? More obedient? Grateful?”

“I expected someone who’d follow the rules.”

She smirked. “I expected someone who had more personality than a bank vault.”

To her surprise, he chuckled softly. Just once.

She stood slowly, brushing her fingers along the arm of the chair. “Goodnight, Mr. Wolfe.”

He looked up, his voice lower than before. “Goodnight... Amira.”

It was the first time he said her name.

And the sound of it felt heavier than anything else he’d said all week.