Kill Clause, or rather Cassandra Selfmore, woke to her phone buzzing with calls from her assistants. She didn't answer any of them. She only checked who had called, made a few mental notes, then looked over her calendar before slowly getting out of bed.
With her footsteps softened by the plush carpet, Cassandra crossed the penthouse in a loose silk nightshirt that skimmed her waist and hips whenever she moved.
The coffee maker clicked on almost by instinct, as if even the apartment had learned her schedule. Sleek glass, clean lines, and expensive restraint shaped the space, but family photos in plain wooden frames softened the sharpness of it.
Her younger brother, a woodworker, had made every frame by hand. The pictures showed her huge family: six younger siblings and a single father, since Cassandra's mother had died in an accident when they were still young. The youngest Selfmore didn't even remember her face.
