All Chapters of Signed In Silence : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Wren The lingering warmth of the street dissolved the moment the private elevator doors chimed open on the penthouse floor. Standing beside the dark wood console table, his slim leather briefcase resting against his knee was Manasseh. He hadn't bothered to take off his trench coat. His hands were clasped behind his back, his sharp, angular face stripped of its usual quiet irony. Leander didn't drop my hand immediately. His thumb rubbed one slow, reassuring circle over the back of my knuckles before his grip loosened, his fingers reluctantly sliding away from mine. The shift in his posture was instantaneous. It felt relaxed, just as an approachable man who had licked powdered sugar off his thumb at a sidewalk café vanished, replaced by the imposing, iron-clad CEO of Voss Enterprises. "You're early, Manasseh," Leander stated, his baritone dropping into that low, resonant frequency that carried through the open foyer. "I thought you were monitoring the bail hearing from the

Wren Hours after Uncle Jose left, the penthouse settled back to silence. The dining table had been cleared, the plates washed, and the subtle scent of rosemary and garlic was slowly giving way to the fresh, cool night air drifting in through the slightly open balcony doors. I couldn't sleep. I was wearing a soft, oversized cream cashmere sweater and loose silk trousers, my bare feet padding quietly across the dark hardwood floor toward the kitchen. The suite was dimly lit, illuminated only by the ambient blue glow of the skyline reflecting off the glass and the soft amber under-cabinet lighting above the marble island. I pulled a glass from the cupboard, reaching for the crystal carafe of ice water sitting on the counter. "You're awake." I was a bit startled. Leander's baritone voice was so deeply ingrained in my senses now that his presence felt like a natural shift in the room's atmosphere. I turned around. Leander was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He had

Wren's Pov I leaned my back against the cold stone of the private rooftop garden, high above the glowing grid of the Financial District. The wind up here was fierce, pulling loose strands of hair from my pinned chignon and whipping them across my cheeks. Below us, the city looked like a scattered handful of diamonds thrown across black velvet, the harbor reflecting the distant, rhythmic flash of marine beacons. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, my wool coat providing only a thin barrier against the midnight chill. But I didn't step back toward the glass conservatory doors. Because Leander was standing right behind me. He didn't utter a word as he stepped into my space. Slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his heavy charcoal overcoat and draped it over my shoulders. The garment was heavy, lined with rich silk, and radiating the deep, intoxicating heat of his body smell of cedarwood and cold air. Before I could pull the lapels together, Leander’s arms came around my

Wren The sub-basement corridor tasted like the earth after a heavy damp rain, suffocating and thick. Leander didn't wait for the private elevator. He took the concrete emergency stairs three at a time, his polished dress shoes slamming against the hollow metal risers with a rhythmic, violent force that echoed up the narrow stairwell like gunfire. I was right on his heels, my black pumps discarded somewhere back near the administrative hallway, my stockinged feet flying over the chilly concrete as the ivory silk of my dress whipped around my knees. "Leander, wait!" I gasped, my lungs burning with every breath as I reached out to catch the heavy sleeve of his pinstripe suit jacket. "We don't know if he's alone! We don't know what he brought down there!" He didn't slow his stride, but his arm braced backward, his broad, warm hand catching mine with an iron grip. He pulled me flush against his side, shielding me with his broad frame as we hit the heavy steel door of Sub-Basement T

Wren The penthouse was completely dark when we returned. The air inside was warm, clean, and smelled faintly of rose and fresh linen... a stark, overwhelming contrast to the suffocating stench of smoke that had filled my lungs all afternoon. Leander refused to set me down until we reached the master bathroom suite. Without speaking a word, Leander walked over and turned on the brass fixtures. Steaming, hot water cascaded into the tub, filling the room with a thick, soothing fog of eucalyptus steam. I sat on the plush leather ottoman near the vanity, my emergency blanket pulled tightly around my shoulders, shivering uncontrollably. The shivering wasn't from the cold anymore. It was the delayed, violent crash of adrenaline after hours of terror and heartbreak. Leander knelt in front of me on the cold marble floor. He reached down, gently lifting my right foot, using a warm, damp cloth to carefully wipe away the black soot and dried mud from my skin. His broad hands were incredi