Rain streaked down the glass wall of Ken Stuart's penthouse, blurring the city into a shifting canvas of smeared silver and shadow. Each drop chased another, distorting the skyline until the familiar lights of skyscrapers and streetlamps dissolved into a nebulous glow, swallowed by the hungry mist. Inside, the room was heavy with the scent of strong coffee and the dust of old paper, file folders stacked like crumbling towers on Ken's desk, untouched mugs cooling beside them. Every so often, his phone vibrated insistently, but Ken ignored it. Every call was a demand he couldn't or wouldn't face right now.
Bella stood at the window, arms hugged close to her body, her silhouette almost merging with the stormy reflection. She hadn't uttered a word since Ken's confession. Her gaze stayed fixed on the city, but her mind was far away, turning over and over the truth Ken had just laid bare. Silence swelled between them, punctuated only by the rain's relentless drumming.
