The penthouse was quiet again that night. Outside, the city hummed with life, but inside, Jordan and Grace were alone with only the soft glow of lamps and the faint scent of jasmine drifting from the diffuser.Grace sat on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn close, notebook in hand, though her pen had stopped moving minutes ago. Jordan leaned against the backrest opposite her, eyes fixed on her as if he were memorizing the curves of her expression, the way her lips pursed when she thought, the delicate tilt of her head.“Grace,” he began quietly, the words deliberate, “can I ask you something?”She looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. “Of course.”“Do you ever wonder… if we’re really allowed to just… feel?” He hesitated, his voice thick. “Without fear. Without all the ghosts of the past.”Grace’s fingers tightened around her pen. “Every day,” she admitted. “I’ve spent so long surviving that I forgot how to live.”Jordan’s gaze softened. He took a step closer, sitting more upright,
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