تسجيل الدخولElowen's POV"You cracked a guest login in under four minutes," Killian said, walking further into the room like he'd simply been waiting for the right moment to speak. "Dr. Petrovich told me your reflexes might still be slow for a few days. He clearly underestimated you."Leo didn't pull his hand from mine. He sat straighter against the pillows, his jaw tight, meeting Killian's eyes without a trace of hesitation."You left the network wide open," Leo said, his voice still rough, but sharp enough to cut through the room. "Either your people are careless, or you wanted me to find those records myself."Something flickered at the corner of Killian's mouth, there and gone."I don't hire careless people," he said. "And I don't believe in handing soft summaries to a man who builds systems for a living. If you were going to wake up under my roof, I'd rather you read th
Elowen's POVI walked back into the east wing at ten, carrying two cardboard cups of coffee from the kitchen down the hall.The door was wider open than I'd left it, the quiet hum of the room broken by a new, sharp sound, the fast, steady click of keys being struck in sequence.I stopped at the threshold.Leo was sitting upright, pillows stacked high behind his back. The medical trolley had been cleared of trays, and resting on his lap was a slate gray laptop, one of the plain unmarked ones Killian kept in his study drawers. A cord ran from the side of it straight into the wall.He didn't look up when I came in. The blue light of the screen lit the pale, sharp line of his jaw, his eyes moving fast over the page, reading the way he always had, since he was sixteen, like the words might disappear if he didn't get to them fast enough."Who gave
Elowen's POVI woke before six, before the sky had made up its mind about the day, and went straight to the east wing without bothering to change out of the clothes I'd fallen asleep in.Leo was awake when I got there, propped up slightly against the pillows, a nurse adjusting something at the side of the bed. He looked thinner in the morning light than he had the night before, the shock of everything wearing off into something closer to exhaustion, but his eyes tracked me across the room clearly this time, no fog left in them at all. Outside the window behind him, the sky was still working out whether it wanted to rain again, gray clouds moving low and slow over the rooftops."Hey," he said, his voice still rough, but steadier."Hey yourself," I said, pulling the chair close and taking his hand the way I had every night for eight months, except this time his fingers actually closed
Elowen's POVThe ride back across town didn't feel like driving. It felt like falling through gray water.The rain had turned heavy again, hammering the dark windows of the car as Marcus wove through Sunday night traffic with fast, careful precision. Beside me, Killian sat completely still, his phone dark in his hand, his profile cut from the passing streetlights into sharp, unmoving shadow.Neither of us spoke. The warm, giddy heat of the wet road behind the showroom, the sound of that old engine roaring under my hands, the quiet terrace over the Hudson, all of it had been wiped clean in a single second by three words.When the elevator opened onto the penthouse floor, the air felt different.The usual heavy quiet of the foyer was gone, replaced by a fast, careful urgency. Two nurses moved quickly down the east wing hallway, carrying trays and equipment, their s
Elowen's POVFor the first time since I'd signed the marriage papers, the penthouse stayed quiet all weekend.No emergency briefings at dawn. No Marcus standing by the study doors with folders or updates from Europe. The noise of the city fell away beneath the glass, leaving just the heavy stillness of an apartment that didn't need to brace for a storm anymore.By Sunday evening, Manhattan was wrapped in a slow, dark drizzle that turned the streetlights into blurred smears of gold against the wet stone."Wear something you can move in," Killian had said that morning, which was the only warning I got before Marcus drove us across town to a converted warehouse on the far West Side, its brick face unmarked except for a single brass plaque and a line of black cars idling at the curb.Inside, the space opened into something I hadn't expected, a private showroom two st
Elowen's POVFriday morning arrived with the hard, bright clarity of clean glass.The ninetieth floor didn't smell like stale coffee or panic today. It smelled of cold air and freshly printed paper. By twenty to nine, all eight directors were already in their seats, their faces drawn tight, sitting back in their chairs like people waiting for an explosion they'd spent four days bracing to survive.Laurence Croft sat three places down from Chairman Koch, his hands folded so tightly over his folder that his knuckles looked like bone. He hadn't spoken to anyone since walking through the doors.Killian sat beside me in the seat he'd taken all week, two places down from the head of the table. He wore a dark charcoal suit, his coat unbuttoned, carrying the same quiet, unbothered stillness he'd had all since Monday. He didn't look at Croft. He didn't check the clock on the wall.&nbs







