Alexander’s Penthouse Morning The first blush of dawn spilled like liquid gold through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across polished marble and sleek glass. Outside, the city slowly shook off the last traces of night—horns soft in the distance, the hum of awakening life drifting upward like a whisper. But inside the penthouse, everything was still. Isabella stood alone in the kitchen, barefoot against the cool floor, wrapped in a silk robe that barely grazed her knees. It wasn’t hers. The scent clinging to it—clean, masculine, and unmistakably Alexander—wrapped around her like a second skin, far more intimate than she’d expected. The silk whispered with her every movement, a delicate contrast to the quiet storm settling in her chest. She held a mug of coffee between her hands, fingers wrapped tightly around the warmth as though it might anchor her. She brought it to her lips, but the taste barely registered. It wasn’t the bitterness of the brew that preoccu
Huling Na-update : 2025-05-12
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