The silence that followed Elena Vance’s death was not peaceful; it was a heavy, suffocating shroud that settled over the Obsidian Mansion. The medical team had vanished like ghosts, leaving only the faint scent of ozone and the lingering chill of the grave. Outside, the mountain storm had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, unnatural fog that swallowed the cliffs whole.
I stood in the center of the master suite, still wearing the silk slip that was now wrinkled and stained with the salt of my tears—and his sweat. I felt like a figurine forgotten on a shelf. The surgery was no longer a threat, yet I felt more like a corpse than ever before.
The door creaked open.
Adrian walked in. He had stripped off his suit jacket and tie. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and
