The entryway is huge in itself, divided by a glossy, black bookcase several metres long. My gaze catches on rows of framed photographs, nestled in the shelf’s cubbyholes with other valuables and trinkets.
“Who’s this?” I study a gold-gilded frame.
Hyland stops at my side, the door clicking shut behind him. “That’s my son, Luke. He’s six years old.”
“I had no idea. Why haven’t you mentioned him?”
Hyland deliberates for a moment, his suddenly sad gaze locked on the image of the blonde-haired kid showing off a toothy grin. The heaviness that settles over him is palpable.
“I don’t see him much with my work schedule. My divorce from his mother wasn’t amicable, and she got full custody. They live down south near her parents now.”
“You’re divorced?”
“For a few years.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Like I said… my family got hurt because of me.”
Cutting off the conversation, Hyland walks farther into the apartment. I follow in his looming shadow, looking back over my shoulder at the sweet little boy one last time.
He looks a lot like his dad, though his wide eyes are a beautiful shade of turquoise-blue, and his features are rounded with youthful innocence. I wonder if he’s the reason Hyland needs to protect the whole world.
Maybe that’s his monster.
He’s forever bound to protect others because he failed those he loved most in the past.
“Hyland? Ember?”
At the sound of Warner calling our names, Hyland halts, gesturing for me to walk ahead. The ceiling rises sharply at the end of the entrance hall to a dramatic, ten-foot expanse supported with huge steel beams.
The penthouse is open plan and boasts a living space that could probably fit my entire old apartment. Sunken floors lead into the impressive lounge, marked by two cream, L-shaped sofas, a stone fireplace and massive flatscreen TV.
In the nearby kitchen, spotlights and concealed beams of muted light illuminate the space, dominated by speckled-black marble counters, multiple barstools and several high-end burners.
I’ve never seen such a grand fridge. It’s one of many top-end appliances, the array of gadgets failing to fill even half of the available counter space. Their ten-seat dining table next to the window is equally large.
“Damn.”
Behind me, Hyland snorts sardonically. “It’s a bit excessive for me too.”
“Are you kidding? This is awesome.”
“Glad you like it.”
The view out of the floor-to-ceiling windows captivates me. London’s vast wealth and urban landscape stretch on for miles like a breathtaking, panoramic painting.
“Over here,” Warner’s voice calls.
At his words, I turn to face him. “Oh, hi.”
The sight of him in navy-blue workout gear stuns me. It isn’t his exposed metal prosthetic peeking out of his shorts that steals my tongue. I’ve seen it enough times since his car accident.
His built shoulders, hair-smattered forearms and strong, bulging biceps are on full-display in the vest he wears. Warner prefers to be comfortable, but I’ve never seen this much of him before. He’s…muscular.
“Hey.” He eyes me warily. “Coffee?”
“Um,” I falter, feeling flustered. “Sure.”
“Coming up.”
Stepping into the kitchen, I drag my fingers over the silky-smooth countertops, trying hard not to gawp. He moves to work an intimidating coffee machine that I’m longing to drool over next.
