(Sienna) The penthouse door clicked shut behind us, sealing in a hush that pressed against my skin like the first humid note of an approaching storm.No Jolene barking orders into her phone, thank God for small mercies. Just the sprawl of London beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows and a silence thick with everything we’ve avoided saying for four chaotic days. Adrian shrugged off his jacket. He hung it on the back of a chair with deliberate care, not rushing to fill the quiet, not offering me a drink from the bar cart. His gaze settled on me, heavy and unblinking, pulling the air taut between us. "We need to be clear," he said, voice low, "about what this arrangement really demands."Right, typically Adrian. Straight for the kill, no lead-up. "I thought the contract made that explicit." I set my bag on the marble console. Our eyes met across the fifteen feet of polished floor, the distance a mutual barrier we’ve both enforced amid the wedding fallout of reporters, family blowups, e
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