Morning didn’t soften anything.If anything, it sharpened the edges.The city woke with a hangover of rumors and half truths, and the penthouse felt exposed in a way it never had before. Not unsafe just honest. I stood by the window, watching traffic stitch itself back together, when Adrian joined me. No suit. No armor. Just a man who had slept, finally, and paid for it with clarity.“They’re regrouping,” he said. “Sofia won’t retreat.”“I don’t want her to,” I replied.He glanced at me. “That’s not bravado.”“No,” I said. “It’s strategy.”We moved to the table, spreading documents between us. Not his. Not mine. Ours. The shift was subtle but absolute.“She’ll try to split us,” Adrian said. “Offer me distance in exchange for silence.”“And offer me safety in exchange for isolation,” I added.He nodded. “Classic divide.”“Then we don’t divide,” I said. “We move together publicly.”Adrian leaned back, considering. “You’re suggesting a joint action.”“I’m suggesting ownership,” I replied
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