The penthouse was quiet now, but it felt like the calm before a storm. Rain drummed against the windows in relentless rhythm, and the city lights blurred through the sheets of water, painting everything in cold, shifting hues. Amara sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingers twisting her coat like it held the answers she so desperately needed.

Ethan was pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand gripping the rail, the other running through his hair. The sharp lines of his jaw were set, his suit damp from the earlier rain, but his eyes were dark—unsettled. She had never seen him like this. Not the CEO, not the...