11:00 AM. The Penthouse Master Bedroom.

The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a soft, melancholic twilight. Aria sat propped up against the pillows of the massive bed, her knees drawn to her chest, her tablet resting on the duvet.

She wasn’t reading the news anymore. She was looking at photos. Old photos of her and Sophia. Photos of them at brunch, at university, at fittings. Years of friendship, secrets, and laughter, all reduced to a calculated betrayal for no reason.

The door clicked open.

Aria didn’t look up as Damian walked in. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, looking...