Aria

I stepped into the penthouse like a thief returning to the scene, quiet, breath tight, limbs stiff with guilt. The silence hit first. That thick, empty kind of quiet that feels like judgment. I didn’t plan to stay long. Just pack my things before Grant comes back from wherever he went.

The elevator doors slid shut behind me. I inhaled shakily. The whole place smelled like him, sandalwood and that clean, expensive scent that lingered on his skin and pillows. My chest squeezed.

I was ...