Phei took a deep breath as he closed Valentina's door behind him.
Softly. Carefully. Like a man leaving a crime scene—which, depending on how you looked at it, wasn't entirely inaccurate.
The kind of crime scene where the only victim was decorum, the only evidence was rumpled sheets and the faint, lingering scent of sweat, sex, and the sort of satisfaction that made bad decisions feel like divine intervention.
The hallway of the 80th floor stretched before him: clean lines, muted lighting, the kind of corporate elegance. Very Sovereign Tower. Very on-brand.
He'd just learned something interesting tonight.
Unless they had their own homes or families inside Paradise or Downtown Paradise, all Sovereign Tower employees—particularly those hired from outside the golden gates—were given their own rooms in the building.
Rooms.
In a building where the cheapest unit cost more than most people made in a lifetime.
