The silence of the penthouse was a thick, velvet blanket, broken only by the rhythmic sigh of the air filtration system and the soft, steady breath escaping Anwesha's lips. Dhruv slid from the cool Egyptian cotton sheets, the movement barely disturbing the air. His bare feet met the polished marble of the floor, a momentary chill chasing up his legs before he padded toward the kitchen island, the city lights a distant, glittering smear beyond the panoramic glass. He poured chilled water into a heavy tumbler, the clink of ice a sharp, tiny sound in the vast space. He drank deeply, the cold liquid a momentary shock against his throat, but the true thirst remained unquenched.