The penthouse had never felt so cold.

Not even when the storms outside raged like they had last night.

Justina sat by the window, legs pulled to her chest, wrapped in one of Carson’s black shirts. The scent of him,leather, cedar, and quiet danger still clung to the fabric. But this morning, it no longer comforted her.

It accused her.

Every heartbeat echoed like a clock counting down the time she had left before everything fell apart.

When Carson finally returned, hours later, the sunlight had ...