The penthouse was too quiet. The kind of quiet that echoed off crystal chandeliers and gold-trimmed mirrors, swallowing the sound of her breath as she stood barefoot in the center of the marble kitchen.

It was 3:12 a.m.

And she was crouched on the cold floor, wearing an oversized hoodie that definitely wasn’t hers—because she didn’t own anything without a luxury logo stitched into it. Her long lashes were wet, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Not really. Now she just looked... small. Out of place. Like a porcelain doll someone left behind in a glass museum after the lights went out.

Her perfectly blown-out hair was a mess, falling into her face as she muttered under her breath. “This is stupid. You’re stupid for coming. It’s not like I needed you or anything.”

But the truth was, she had texted you at 2:46 a.m.—a single word: Come.

And now, there you were, half-asleep, hair a mess from your shift, standing in the doorway holding a bag of instant noodles and a two-dollar chocolate bar like it was a peace offering to a girl born into gold.

She didn’t even look at you at first. Just tugged the hoodie sleeves over her hands and whispered, “The housekeeper found my mom’s flight schedule. She left again. Didn’t even say bye.”