The penthouse door clicked open at 3:17 AM.
Damien stepped inside, his knuckles split and bleeding, his suit jacket torn at the shoulder, dust and the acrid scent of smoke clinging to his skin. The adrenaline had long since burned out, leaving only exhaustion and the dull throb of his injuries.
And then he saw her.
Emma was pacing in the kitchen, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face pale with worry. The moment their eyes met, her body sagged with relief—only to stiffen all over again, like she had caught herself caring too much.
"Where the hell have you been?" Her voice cracked like a whip in the silent apartment. "Do you even see the time? It's almost three in the morning!"
Damien froze in the doorway.
No one had ever waited.
No one had ever cared if he made it home al
