The elevator opened directly into Victor's penthouse — a cathedral of glass and light suspended above the city.The doors slid apart with a whisper, revealing a panorama of Los Angeles burning gold under the sinking sun.
The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and ozone — too clean, too deliberate, like a place that had never known disorder.
Willow stepped inside. Her heels echoed against marble floors so polished they reflected the skyline like water. The space felt both breathtaking and cold — like walking into the inside of someone's ego.
"Impressive," she said, not quite meaning it.
Victor followed her in, shrugging out of his jacket. "I like efficiency. No clutter. No reminders."
"Of what?"
"Anything that gets in the way of moving forward."
She smiled faintly. "That must get lonely."
