The digital clock on the nightstand flickered: 05:58 AM.
The grey light of a Jakarta morning bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, turning the city into a forest of cold steel and concrete. I sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in a simple white linen suit Adrian had prepared—a far cry from the velvet and diamonds of my captivity. In my lap sat the brass key to the gallery and the legal documents that granted me a fortune.
I was a free woman. On paper, I was no longer a Vance asset. I was Elara Pramudya again.
The door to the master suite opened. Adrian stood there, dressed for his surrender. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top button open, and his charcoal blazer draped over his arm. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes a testament to a man who h
