The Atlanta skyline shimmered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, brushed in soft gold by the late-morning sun. The penthouse still smelled faintly of the previous night, spiced wine, lavender shampoo, and something darker that lingered beneath Damian's cologne. In the open kitchen, the last of their breakfast sat half-eaten: toast gone cold, a plate of strawberries forgotten, two mugs of coffee steeping in silence. Damian adjusted his cufflinks at the edge of the kitchen island, eyes on the mirrored backsplash. He looked like something out of another world again, sleek, composed, calculating. Armani blazer. Slate-gray slacks. That wolfish confidence settled in every angle of his frame, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not today. Nova padded out from the bedroom barefoot, wearing a soft ribbed tank top and high-waisted knit pants. Her curls were still damp from her shower, her skin dewy. She carried a small travel watering can, the one she insisted on packing last-minute. In i
