The penthouse windows bled pale gold light into the living room, the late afternoon sun spilling across marble floors and expensive furniture that suddenly felt more like a cage than a home. Liam sat on the edge of the leather couch, elbows braced on his knees, fingers threaded into his hair. He'd been like that for nearly twenty minutes—motionless except for the restless way his legs bounced, heel tapping the floor like a drumbeat of nerves.
Harper leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, eyes locked on him with that piercing patience only she could muster. She hadn't said anything in a while, letting the silence stretch heavy between them. It was unbearable, and that was exactly the point.
Finally, she pushed herself off the counter and walked toward him, her boots clicking sharply against the floor. "You're going to break if you keep this up."
Liam lifted his head just slightly, but his green-silver eyes were bloodshot, his face pale. "I already am."
