Hours before the pastor would clear his throat at the Grand Pavilion, the heavy silence inside the Zenith penthouse had already settled. It was a lingering quiet that took over the moment the private elevator doors slid shut, carrying Jake and Catharine down toward the lobby.
Aliya stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, her hands wrapped around her arms as she watched the tail lights of Jake's luxury sedan merge into the evening traffic forty floors below.
The front room was still scattered with remnants of their afternoon. Discarded garment covers draped over the armchairs, luxury shopping bags rested against the sofa base, and a half-filled glass of water sat cold on the kitchen island.
