Returning to Los Angeles was supposed to feel like coming home.
It didn't.
The penthouse was the same— same glossy floors, same wide windows with the endless city view, same expensive quiet but something about it felt heavier this time. Maybe it was the silence that followed us back from Italy, the kind that made my skin prickle no matter how many times Jace told me we were safe.
He said things were fine now. That Ricardo was gone. That Giulietta wouldn't be a problem anymore. That Massimo had gone silent and I knew silence ever meant peace in his world.
Still, I tried to believe him.
I tried to slip back into routine, into some kind of normal life. But normal didn't exist for me anymore.
Every morning, I'd wake up in the king-sized bed, sunlight pouring through the windows, and roll over to find Jace's side empty. The sheets were still warm but he was always gone either downstairs in a meeting or on the phone, giving orders I wasn't meant to hear.
