Ethan's POV
I wasn't sure what woke me first—the dull ache behind my eyes, the heavy throb in my chest, or the crushing silence of the penthouse. Silence… a kind I had never noticed before. A kind that felt wrong.
The kind that meant someone was missing.
Her.
Emma.
My eyes snapped open. The bed beside me was cold. The sheets were perfectly straight.
Untouched.
Panic hit fast, sharp, and merciless.
I sat up, heart hammering, chest tight.
"Emma?"
My voice cracked into the empty room.
No answer.
No sound.
No trace of her anywhere.
For a moment, I convinced myself it was early—too early—and she was just in the guest room, or in the studio sketching like she sometimes did when inspiration struck in the middle of the night.
But the penthouse felt wrong.
Like it had exhaled her out.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, every movement feeling like it dragged a weight behind it. The floor felt too cold. The air felt too still.
