The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the marble floors in gold. I had spent the early hours rearranging a few shelves and placing a set of orchids on the dining table. The penthouse felt slightly warmer, more alive, as if it had finally started breathing with me in it. I stepped back, surveying the living room, when a faint noise from the bedroom drew my attention.Noah emerged, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tailored navy trousers, and that same unreadable expression that always seemed to dominate the room. He moved with that effortless, controlled grace, but something about his stance made my heart catch.“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound casual, though I felt my palms prickle with nerves.“Morning,” he replied, his gray eyes briefly scanning the living room before flicking toward me. And then I noticed it—just above his collarbone, partially hidden beneath his shirt’s neckline, a faint, angry bruise. My stomach lu
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