The penthouse door closed behind them with a soft, decisive click that seemed to mark the beginning of something deliberate. Mr. Hayes moved through the apartment with the casual authority of a man who had paid for every inch of it; the marble floors reflected his shoes, the art on the walls looked curated to impress, and the skyline beyond the glass was a glittering audience. He did not hurry. He did not need to. The woman who had stepped in after him—Kane's ex—stood in the center of the living room like a statue come to life, arms folded, chin tilted, assessing everything as if it were a prop in a play she already knew how to dominate.
"You'll stay here," Hayes said, setting his keys on the console. His voice was even, controlled. "Until I tell you otherwise."
