Emma's POV
The next day was a productive chaos. Not the frantic, overwhelming kind I used to feel when Ethan would shove last-minute demands onto my shoulders, but a steady, almost exhilarating kind of chaos—the kind that meant things were changing, shifting, rebuilding.
The furniture from the old apartment was swiftly moved out, wrapped, labeled, and carried away. In its place, new, sleek pieces arrived for the new one—cream, walnut, brushed black metal. Damian's taste was evident in each piece: refined, modern, but not cold. Comfortable, but intentional. He had told me I would choose everything, but somehow, the selections already made felt… right. Like he understood my style better than I did.
