“Look,” he said, turning her toward the glass. Her own reflection stared back, pale and trembling against the dark skyline. And behind her, his silhouette—broad, unyielding.

He broke the kiss, took her hand, and led her inside the penthouse. The room was all matte black surfaces and floor-to-ceiling windows. He undressed her slowly, deliberately, like unwrapping a gift he’d waited years to open. Each piece of clothing dropped to the floor with a soft whisper.

“Sybil,” he said. Not a question. “You’re the last piece.”