The penthouse sat high above the city, towering past skyscrapers, its windows stretching from floor to ceiling.
Night had fallen, but the lights inside weren't bright. Samantha Bradley preferred shadows. The kind that softened the marble floors and caught in the glass like quiet reflections of things you couldn't quite name.
She stood by the window now, dressed in a matte black silk robe cinched neatly at her waist. Her hair was tied back in a low, sleek ponytail, diamond-stud earrings glimmering faintly in the low light.
Below her, the city looked like a field of stars.
Jake sat on the deep charcoal-gray sofa behind her, elbows resting on his knees, a tumbler of whiskey balanced in one hand. No ice. No rush.
Silence hung between them—not awkward, just heavy. Comfortable in a way most people didn't understand.
"You're quiet tonight," Jake said finally, his voice low, steady.
Samantha didn't turn around.
"I'm thinking," she answered simply.
