Henry didn’t get home until almost one in the morning.

The penthouse was dark and silent. He dropped his keys on the console table and walked straight to Andrea’s room, exhaustion pulling at his shoulders but guilt pushing him forward. He eased the door open quietly.

She was curled on her side, breathing slow and even, one arm tucked under the pillow. The thin strap of her tank top had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the edge of a dark hickey he had left the night before. Her face looked soft in sleep, almost peaceful—but Henry could still see the faint crease between her brows, like even her dreams were...