The private jet touched down just after sunset, casting the skyline in molten gold. Through the tinted windows of the black car waiting on the tarmac, Ella watched the city rise to meet them—glass, steel, and noise replacing the silence of the Amalfi coast.
Nicholas sat beside her, one arm draped along the back of the seat, the other resting between them, fingers tangled loosely with hers. He hadn't let go of her hand since they'd left the villa.
As the car pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Ella felt the shift. The world was louder here. Sharper.
Still, she wasn't afraid of it. Not this time.
The elevator opened directly into the private foyer of Nicholas's penthouse, and soft lighting spilled over the polished floors. A housekeeper passed quietly down the hallway, offering a polite smile and a murmured, "Welcome home, Mr. Carter. Ms. Ella," before disappearing without pause.
Ella stood still for a moment, blinking.
