The weight of silence in Lexington Latham's penthouse felt different at night. The kind of quiet that didn't bring peace.
Lex stood barefoot near the floor-to-ceiling window, whiskey glass dangling loosely from his fingers. The skyline below him, lights blinking mocking him. Ten years ago at twenty three, this view had meant everything.
Money, power and legacy.
Now it was just empty.
Behind him, the faint sound of water dripping. A leak, probably from a tap that hadn't been repaired. He didn't bother fixing it—no point. Not when everything was breaking, falling down.
His eyes drifted to the window—his reflection. The suit jacket didn't fit him like it used to. The creases on his shirt, and the bruising under his left eye hadn't faded yet.
Barnie Maddox's idea of a warning.
Lex let out a slow breath, taking a sip from the glass. The liquor burned, but it wasn't enough to drown out the weight pressing on his chest.
Rose.
Her footsteps were soft, but he could hear the hesitation. She always lingered near the door like she wasn't sure if staying was the right choice.
"You didn't call," she said quietly, setting down her bag near the entrance.
Lex didn't turn around. "Didn't know I needed to."
Rose stepped further inside, arms crossed as she glanced around the penthouse. Her eyes landed on the stack of unpaid bills near the kitchen counter—right next to the half-empty bottle of bourbon.
"Barnie sent someone?" she asked.
Lex's smirk, barely. "Trent."
Rose exhaled softly, brushing her hair over one shoulder.
"He's bolder."
Trent Garrison wasn't the kind of guy you ignored—not because he demanded attention, but because he filled a room without trying. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the build of someone who didn't mind settling things the hard way, Trent carried himself like he had something to prove.
His dark hair was always cut short, but never too neat—just messy enough to suggest he didn't care about office politics, even if he played them better than most. His sleeves were perpetually rolled up, showing faint scars along his forearms, remnants of a past that didn't belong in corporate finance. He was a problem that always bothered Lex since he first interned and was the ghost that haunted Lex life choices.
Lex slowly turned. His gaze lingered on her—their eyes met.
"The nature of men like Uncle Barnie, Rose. They don't get bolder."
Her brow furrowed. "Then what?"
Lex's smirk faded.
"This is desperation."
The room went silence.
Rose didn't argue, but she didn't look convinced either.
Lex stepped past her, setting the empty glass down on the counter.
"You should stop coming here," he muttered.
Rose arched a brow. "That another order?"
Lex shook his head. "It's advice."
Her voice softened. "I stopped listening to your advice a long time ago."
He glanced over catching the faint flicker of something in her expression. Loyalty or maybe regret.
Lex leaned against the counter, watching her.
"You're still here, Rose. Why?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she stepped closer, voice low but certain.
"Because someone's has to look out for you."
The soft scrape of a lock echoed as Rose pulled the back entrance shut behind her. Lex leaned against the frame, half-hidden by shadows, watching through the crack of the open doorway as she stepped out into the alley.
Her shoulders tensed against the cold, tote bag shifting awkwardly to one side. She always left through the service exit—like she was the one ashamed to be seen here.
Lex smirked bitterly at the thought. If anyone should be slipping through back doors, it was him.
He could already hear the whispers in the lobby, the cautious glances from neighbors who used to greet him with tight smiles and forced admiration. Their silence now spoke louder than their words ever did.
Rose was halfway down the alley when Lex's voice cut through the space between them.
"You forgot your tip."
She stopped but didn't turn right away. He could tell from the slight drop of her shoulders that she wasn't in the mood for this.
Too bad.
Lex stepped fully into the doorway, holding the crumpled bill between his fingers. "Come on, Rose. Don't leave a man hanging."
When she finally faced him, arms crossed and expression flat, Lex could almost hear the argument forming in her head.
"That's generous for wiping down two counters," she said, voice sharp but steady.
Lex's smirk tugged wider. "I'm a generous man."
She didn't laugh. She never did.
Rose took a step forward but stopped short of the threshold. The glow from the alley cast sharp lines across her face, catching the faint furrow between her brows.
"You know I can't take that."
Lex twirled the bill absently between his fingers. She always said that.
"Humor me," he replied. "I've got more of these than I know what to do with."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, flicking toward the half-open door behind him.
"Tell that to your electricity bill," Rose said, nodding toward the stack of unopened mail near the entrance. "I saw the notice."
Lex's smirk wavered—just for a second—but he caught it before it fell too far.
"Good thing candles are back in style."
Rose rubbed her temple, exhaling through her nose. She did that a lot around him.
"I'll see you Thursday," she muttered. "Try not to be blackout drunk by six this time."
Lex chuckled softly. "I make no promises about six. But I'm a delight by eight."
She rolled her eyes, already halfway back to the curb.
"Don't work yourself into an early grave, Lex."
Her footsteps didn't slow, but her voice carried back over her shoulder.
"Right back at you, Latham."
The door clicked shut softly behind her, leaving Lex standing alone in the cold.
He lingered in the doorway, letting the chill creep beneath his sleeves. Rose had that effect. She left behind a certain emptiness—like she took some vital part of the room with her.
Lex glanced down at the bill still in his hand.
She never took the money.
Rose Russo owed him nothing—not after everything he'd done for her family over the years—but it never stopped him from offering.
Lex stuffed the bill into his pocket and closed the door, the soft lock clicking louder in the quiet penthouse.
The empty space stretched around him, too vast for a man who used to command every room he walked into.
His gaze drifted to the stack of unopened letters by the kitchen. Power company notices. Debt collectors. Reminders of what was gone.
Lex stepped over them without looking twice.
He poured himself a drink from the decanter on the counter. The ice melted slowly as he leaned against the island, staring out the window at the city below.
Rose thought he was drowning himself, but she had it backward.
He wasn't drowning.
He was waiting to see if the tide would pull him under—or bring him back to shore.