Jace had never seen her sleep before.
Elara Quinn, the untouchable landlady with glass in her voice and armor in her eyes, looked nothing like the woman she was by day. In sleep, she was softer. Her brow no longer furrowed. Her lips slightly parted.
She looked younger. Like someone who once knew what peace felt like.
He should've left. Should've stood and walked out the moment her hand went limp in his. That's what she would've done if the roles were reversed. But he didn't.
Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed for nearly an hour, watching the way she curled into the pillow. As if bracing against something no longer there.
Jace knew that kind of sleep.
The kind where rest was a battlefield.
By morning, he returned to his room.
He showered, changed into clean clothes, and waited.
It wasn't long before he heard movement down the hall. A door creaking open. Bare feet on tile. A pause at the kitchen.
He stepped out just in time to see her standing there—Elara, wrapped in a deep burgundy robe, hair messy, a bruise-like shadow under each eye.
She didn't flinch when she saw him.
She simply poured herself water and leaned against the island.
"You stayed," she said.
"You asked me to."
"I don't remember."
"You don't usually remember what you need until it's gone."
She said nothing.
Just sipped and stared at the glass like it held her reflection.
"You going to pretend last night didn't happen too?" he asked.
"No."
That surprised him.
She looked up. "But don't mistake that for weakness."
"I never said you were weak."
"I know you didn't," she murmured. "But I heard it in your silence."
He exhaled. "I didn't stay because I think you're fragile, Elara. I stayed because I know what it's like to be alone when everything inside you is falling apart."
That made her pause.
She set the glass down, eyes softer now.
"Have you ever lost everything, Jace?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "Once."
"Family?"
He nodded again.
Her voice dropped. "So have I."
A moment of real connection passed between them.
Then she whispered, "I killed him."
The words sat in the air like a loaded gun.
Jace's pulse kicked up. "Who?"
"My ex," she said.
It came out flat. Final.
"I don't mean literally. I mean... I destroyed him."
She looked down at her hands. "He ruined me. And I ruined him back. I broke him so cleanly, he never saw it coming."
Jace didn't speak.
She looked at him. "Say it. You're disgusted."
"I'm not," he said. "I just don't think you ruin someone unless they deserve it."
Her eyes flickered. "He did."
"Then maybe he should thank you."
That earned a breath of a laugh.
One real, unfiltered sound.
Small.
But it was a start.
That evening, the penthouse felt different.
Not lighter—but less cold.
Jace found himself in the lounge again, lounging on the couch with a book he wasn't reading and a drink he wasn't really drinking.
He was waiting.
And she knew it.
She appeared at the top of the stairs around 9 p.m., dressed in a deep gray silk slip that clung to her like liquid smoke.
No words.
No questions.
Just her presence, and the soft steps of bare feet crossing velvet carpet.
She sat beside him on the couch.
Not on the opposite end, like always.
Right beside him.
Close enough to touch.
He didn't move.
"I'm not used to this," she said.
"What?"
"Letting someone stay after the damage is visible."
"You don't scare me, Elara."
"That's the problem," she whispered. "He said the same thing."
Jace turned his head. "He hurt you, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"Physically?"
She hesitated. Then shook her head. "No. Not like that. But he broke things you don't see."
"What was his name?"
Her lips parted.
Then closed again.
She stood without answering and crossed to the bar.
Poured wine.
Drank half in one go.
Then she whispered, "His name was—"
A loud knock shattered the moment.
They both froze.
Jace stood immediately.
Elara's face had gone pale.
She didn't move.
The knock came again.
Sharp. Measured. Twice.
Jace stepped toward the front of the lounge.
"Elara?"
She shook her head once. "Don't answer it."
He paused.
"Who is it?"
"Go upstairs," she said firmly. "Now."
"Elara—"
"I said go."
Her voice dropped into that steel command again. The one that didn't allow argument.
Jace backed away, watching her carefully.
She straightened her spine. Pulled her robe tighter around her. Walked calmly up the stairs like she wasn't trembling.
Jace stood at the top of the hallway, hidden in shadow as Elara opened the main penthouse door.
His heart beat loud.
And then he heard the voice.
Male. Deep. Arrogant.
"Did you really think you could ignore me forever?"
"I told you never to come here," Elara said coolly.
Jace couldn't see the man's face, but he heard the smile in his voice.
"I missed that fire. You were always so good at pretending I didn't own you."
"I don't belong to you."
"You did once."
"Get out."
"I don't think you're in a position to demand anything, sweetheart. Not after what you did."
Silence.
Then the sound of something being dropped on the floor.
A box.
No, a file.
"I know what's in your safe," the man continued. "You want this to stay buried, you'll be at the Blackridge Hotel. Midnight. Room 1903."
A pause.
"And don't bring your toy boy."
Then the door shut.
Hard.
Elara leaned against the wall, one hand clenched tight around the file.
And Jace finally understood—
This wasn't just about control.
It was about survival.