The morning light seeped through the penthouse curtains like a soft, persistent whisper.

Cyrus sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed, as if the weight of the world had finally pressed him into stillness.

He hadn't slept.

Not really.

After watching Camilla fall asleep so peacefully, something in him had fractured wider than before. It wasn’t just the mess at work. It wasn’t just Diaz and Forbes and the looming lawsuits. It was this — her. This strange, tender thing that had rooted itself into the ruins of his guarded heart.

He couldn’t allow it to grow. He couldn’t allow himself to want.

Because...