“Go rest,” he told her.
“I’m all right,” she murmured—but her breath caught.
She touched his arm gently. “Big meeting tomorrow. Get sleep.”
He nodded, pretending to accept her words. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a small hidden camera. He placed it high on a shelf with a clear view of the kitchen. Another one he angled toward the hallway. His jaw clenched as he adjusted the lens. This wasn’t like him—but it was necessary.
Downstairs, the concierge was telling a couple who’d come home late…
“The penthouse is hosting again,” the concierge remarked.
“She keeps everything running like a strict captain,” the man added.
“Poor woman,” the woman whispered.
Ethan stood in the shadows, listening to conversations about a home that no longer felt like his—and told himself he only needed one day. One day to uncover the truth.
Morning spilled over the glass towers, washing the penthouse in soft gold.
Ethan poured himself a cup of coffee and waited. He’d barely slept. A tiny camera light blinked behind the vase in the kitchen. Ruth moved quietly, folding linens with slow, cautious motions—as if afraid to disturb the air.
Clare appeared, her perfume drifting thickly across the room.