Sloane sat in the dimly lit lounge of their penthouse, a glass of wine in hand as the soft hum of jazz played in the background. She had spent the past few days handling every obstacle thrown her way, but for the first time in weeks, there was silence. No urgent calls, no last-minute meetings, no calculated moves.
Just stillness.
She should have been relieved. Instead, her thoughts kept circling back to one person.
Vincent.
The way he had stepped into her war without hesitation. The way he had maneuvered behind the scenes, anticipating her next move before she even made it. The way he challenged her, frustrated her, and somehow always left her wanting more.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him.
