The silence in the penthouse was the kind that held weight, thick and pressing, as if even the air feared to move. Aurora stood near the wide glass window, her figure outlined by the faint glow of the city beneath. The night stretched endlessly outside, cars crawling along streets like tiny veins of light, yet she could not bring herself to care about the view. Her mind was tangled in too many threads, each pulling her in a different direction until she felt as though she might unravel completely.
Logan leaned against the doorway, his shirt half unbuttoned, his eyes fixed on her with the kind of intensity that could slice open bone. He had said nothing since they entered, and his silence was louder than any tirade. The air between them buzzed with unspoken accusations, with the sharp reminder that they were no ordinary pair of lovers who could bicker and make up. Their relationship was built on secrets, on blood, on truths too jagged to speak aloud.
