Astrid’s POV After the stifling tension of breakfast, I needed to disappear. I spent the next hour navigating the endless, silent corridors of the penthouse, refusing to give Ava the satisfaction of asking for directions. Eventually, I pushed open a pair of heavy, soundproofed doors at the end of the north wing, and the air shifted. The home theater was a dark, opulent sanctuary. Low-slung, crimson velvet loungers were arranged in tiers, and the walls were bathed in the soft, rhythmic glow of red LED strips that made the room feel like the inside of a beating heart. At the back, a sleek black marble bar glinted with rows of crystal decanters—tequila, bourbon, and spirits I couldn't name—all reflecting the ruby light like liquid jewels. It was beautiful, expensive, and utterly lonely. Setting up the screen was a struggle that made my throat tighten with a sudden, sharp pang of grief. In my old life, I never had to touch a remote; there was always a maid or a technician a button
Magbasa pa