The penthouse was cloaked in a velvet hush, the kind of silence that pressed in too close, too heavy, until even the faint hum of the city below sounded distant, unreal. Beyond the wall of glass, the skyline glittered with restless neon and flickering headlights, a constellation of human lives moving on, indifferent to her world unraveling.
Eliana lay restless on the guest bed, cocooned in the softness of a duvet that did little to shield her from the storm in her chest. Sleep refused her—slipping away every time she thought she might catch it, like a cruel phantom mocking her exhaustion. Her brown eyes tracked the ceiling, following the wavering shadows that the moonlight painted through the sheer curtains. Each second was punctuated by the metronome-like tick of the clock on the nightstand, the sound gnawing at her nerves, magnifying the ache that spread like wildfire in her chest.
