NOAH
The penthouse was a tomb of glass and marble, suspended high above the city like a god's viewing platform. Below, the lights of Barcelona flickered in the Mediterranean damp, but up here, everything was climate-controlled, scentless, and terrifyingly still.
I sat on the edge of a white leather sofa that cost more than my college tuition. I wasn't tied up. My hands were free, resting on my knees, but the two guards flanking the heavy mahogany doors made the lack of restraints feel like a cruel joke. I was trapped by the sheer weight of Alex Hendrix's presence.
Across from me, Alex stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the night. He was on the phone, his voice a low, melodic hum that vibrated through the room. I couldn't hear the other side of the call, but as he spoke, my heart began to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
