The city outside Damien’s penthouse windows was a blur of lights and movement, but inside, everything was still.

Too still.

He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the half-empty glass of wine in his hand. A second glass sat untouched on the table beside him—out of habit, maybe. Or hope. He didn’t know anymore.

The clock ticked quietly behind him. Past midnight.

He hadn’t eaten.

He didn't care.

The last few days had blurred together, meetings missed, calls unanswered, emails unopened. His assistant had stopped knocking and started texting, and even those messages now sat ignored. He didn’t want to face anyone....