Five hours passed.
The penthouse had long since sunk into silence, the kind that pressed against the walls and lingered in corners like a living thing. Outside, the city glimmered endlessly, lights flickering like distant stars that didn't care about weddings, vows, or broken people pretending to be whole.
Adrian Blake returned without ceremony.
He always did.
The door closed behind him with a muted click, precise, controlled, as if even sound was something he governed. His suit jacket was draped neatly over one arm, his steps unhurried, composed. He looked exactly as he always did immaculate, commanding, untouched by the passage of time or emotion.
Majestic.
His gaze lifted instinctively toward the sitting area.
And paused.
