Rain fell like needles against the glass walls of Rafael’s penthouse, the late-night storm carving silver streaks down the windows. The city outside was a blur—dark, distorted, trembling. Much like the woman standing at his door.

Maya looked nothing like her usual polished, predatory self. Mascara smudged. Lipstick faded. Eyes wild and empty at the same time.

Rafael didn’t open the door wider. He simply stared.

“Maya.”

Her name left his mouth like a warning, not a welcome.

She gave a hollow smile. “Don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”

He didn’t answer.

She stepped inside anyway, brushing past him with a cold, perfumed breeze. Rafael shut the door...