When Silas burst through the front door, the penthouse was dead silent, the study locked. I was sitting on the living room sofa, legs tucked under me, composed and poised.
He strode into the room, his tie tossed aside, breathing heavily. He looked at me, his eyes frantically scanning my face.
I knew he wanted to explain; he just didn't know how to start.
I had been his partner in this high-society game for four years. I had taught him how to avoid social traps and skillfully defuse conflicts on the board.
He was a master of corporate warfare, but faced with the collapse of his home, he was speechless.
Before he could say a word, I smiled. It was the most tender, understanding smile I had ever given him.
"It's okay, Silas," I said softly. "I know Serena just moved back to the city and lost all her old connections. You just wanted to help her get back on her feet, which is why you took her to the gala."
Silas stared at me, his face pale. "Nina, I—"
"It's really okay," I interrupted, my tone gentle, almost maternal. "I don't mind at all."
He froze.
We stared at each other in the silent apartment. My gaze remained locked on him, my eyes full of tenderness and forgiveness.
Eventually, he was the one who looked away.
He suddenly crossed the distance between us, fell to his knees beside the sofa, and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. He buried his face in my stomach, pulling me against him so hard I could barely breathe.
"Nina," he gasped, his voice muffled by my clothes. He sounded almost desperate. "You've lost so much weight."
I stroked his dark hair, smiling at the wall behind him.
I said nothing.
His suit jacket still reeked of that heavy gardenia perfume, almost suffocating me.
I swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea rising in my throat.
