Morning came wrapped in gold.

The kind of morning New York rarely gave still, soft, and full of the quiet promise that maybe, for once, everything would be okay.

But peace, Violet had learned, often hides something waiting to break it.

She stood by the window of their penthouse, barefoot, wearing one of Bryan’s shirts. The city stretched out before her like a living painting the skyline glimmering, streets pulsing with life, unaware of how close she and Bryan had come to losing everything the night before.

Behind her, Bryan’s voice broke the silence. “The papers stopped calling. For now.”

She turned, smiling faintly. “That’s progress.”

He nodded, but his...