The following weeks were a masterclass in atmospheric pressure. The apartment, once a place of violent outbursts and raw confrontation, had settled into a quiet, humming tension that was far more exhausting. I was living a double life, a ghost haunted by my own skin. By day, I was the diligent student, sitting in the back of lecture halls, my satchel heavy with books that felt like lead. By night, I was the Don’s favorite secret, draped in silk and tucked away in the jade-green shadows of a ...