After the Fall

The safe house was a study in sterile, high-altitude silence. Outside, the city was still reeling from the gala, but inside, the air felt thin, stripped of the oxygen of public performance. Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his tie discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled back to reveal forearms corded with tension. He looked less like the untouchable shark of the boardroom and more like a man who had finally run out of armor.

Elena sat on the edge of the velvet sofa

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