Roselyn POV Morning didn’t feel like morning. It felt like something unfinished. The penthouse was too quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful—just controlled silence, like the world outside had temporarily agreed not to interrupt what was happening inside. Dominic stood near the glass wall, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on a glass of water he hadn’t touched. He hadn’t slept. Not really. It showed in the stillness of his posture. Not exhaustion in the ordinary sense—but distance. Like part of him was already somewhere else. On the table behind him, multiple screens still displayed fragments of last night’s collapse: media coverage of Vale Industries, Stephen’s takeover announcement, financial analysts trying to make sense of a shift no one fully understood yet. But Dominic wasn’t watching those. His focus was elsewhere. On something older. Something buried. I stepped closer. “Dominic.” He didn’t turn immediately. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice didn’t match
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