The penthouse suite on the forty-second floor of the Meridian Grand is exactly as Kayden remembers it—impeccably designed, sterile in its perfection, decorated by someone who understood luxury but not warmth. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, offering a view that's supposed to be breathtaking but only makes him feel more isolated, suspended above a world he's no longer part of.
He hasn't been here in months. Not since they finished renovations last spring and he did a final walkthrough, making notes on fixtures and furnishings, approving the color scheme that now feels aggressively neutral—all grays and whites and the kind of beige that's supposed to be sophisticated but just looks empty.
The bed is too large. The sheets are too crisp. Everything smells like expensive hotel soap and nothing at all like home.
Kayden sits on the edge of the mattress, still fully clothed, staring at his phone.
Three new messages from Andrea.
