Thirty minutes later, Marilena stands inside the private elevator of the Night Star Hotel, her hood pulled low, the oversized coat hiding most of her frame. One of Christian's trusted security staff had led her through the staff entrance, no questions asked, no words exchanged—just a nod and a swipe of the access card.
When the elevator doors glide open at the top floor, Christian is already there waiting, dressed casually in a plain black t-shirt and joggers. His bare feet tap softly on the floor as he walks toward her. He doesn't say anything at first—he just looks at her like he's been holding his breath.
"You came," he says, voice low but undeniably relieved.
"I said I would," she replies, stepping out.
Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls her into a hug—firm, grounding, the kind that says more than anything he could have said out loud. For a second, she leans into it, letting herself forget the world outside.
