Dante stood shirtless at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sun rise over the pond behind his new property. When he had seen the place, he knew he had to have it; the house looked like the kind of place Elisa would like—serene, lots of natural landscape, and a beautiful house. He was so glad he was able to successfully bully the owner into selling.
The low golden lights gleaming on his abs and defined pecs, his joggers hanging low on his trim waist, his phone open on Elisa's contact. A glass of deep red wine twirled lazily in his hand, catching the soft gold lighting of his penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the forest edge, but it was the room itself that spoke volumes: rich mahogany floors, velvet curtains, and abstract art lining the walls. A blend of opulence and power.
He tapped the replay button on his phone again.
Elisa's laughter.
Her voice.
Her number.
