"Well, this place looks different," Chloe said, the moment we crossed the threshold into my apartment. Her voice was a low exhale of surprise. Her eyes, wide and tracing, swept across the minimalist, high-end expanse—the polished concrete floors, the architectural lighting, the solitary, stark-white chaise lounge. "It looks... clean."
I let the silent judgement hang in the air for a beat, savoring the shock of contrast against her memory of me. I grinned, a slight, knowing curve that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I told you that you don't know anything about me anymore, Chloe. I'm not the guy you knew."
"Yes, I can see that," she replied, her voice dropping to a register that was softer, more private. It reflected the sudden intimacy of the space. "There's something clearly different about you, Druski."
I closed the distance between us, moving with a deliberate, controlled pace that belied the faint ache in my back, yet allowed her to feel the rising heat of my presence.
