POV: Siena Blake

The afternoon light came in softly through the tall glass windows of the penthouse. It was golden and warm, casting long shadows across the shiny marble floor. The sun painted everything with a soft honey glow. Outside, the city was noisy and alive, but up here, it felt like the world had paused. It felt like we were wrapped in a bubble where only love and quiet joy existed.

The living room smelled faintly of mangoes and something sweet—probably the cookies Margaret had baked earlier. The scent mixed with the clean scent of polished wood and expensive candles. Everything looked perfect. Too perfect. Like a dream I...