Chapter Twenty-Four
The penthouse was unusually quiet that evening, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls and seeped into the bones. Elena stood near the window, gazing down at the city lights, her reflection fractured against the glass. Across the room, she could see the faint outline of Adrian seated at his desk, immersed in documents, his gray eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.
Her fingers curled around the edges of her father's letter—the one she had found earlier that day. His words, deliberate and full of faith in Adrian, haunted her in the best and worst ways. The hope they had given her clashed violently with the anger and doubt that had been simmering for weeks. Tonight, she realized, she could no longer carry both feelings in silence.
She turned, meeting Adrian's eyes. "We need to talk."
He looked up immediately, as though he had been waiting for this moment, though he had no way of knowing. "I thought we did," he said quietly, calm but cautious.
