Damien watched as Emma pushed her plate away, her fingers tapping absently against the marble countertop. The morning light caught the gold in her hair, turning it into a halo around her face. Something inside him tightened at the sight.
“Stay here today,” he said again, softer than he intended.
Emma tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her eyes. “Do you own this place?”
“Yeah.”
Just one word. Easier than telling her the truth—that this penthouse was only the surface of what he owned. Easier than explaining the shadows he lived in. If she knew the truth, she’d run. She should run.
Her gaze swept across the penthouse: the floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek modern furniture, art that cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"Wow, you’re doing
