Lethal Amnesia: The Widow's Revenge

Midnight. Scrolling through TikTok thirst traps. Leaving unhinged comments. I never expected the guy on my screen to be my actual boss. Donovan flew back from Europe overnight.

He yanked at his tie, completely out of patience.

To put out the fire, I immediately went into full kissass mode and handed him a new one. "I told you, this tendollar Amazon tie doesn't match your aesthetic." Donovan paused. "Ten dollars?" I nodded. "Yeah.

Broke girls learn to budget.

Save where you can, spend where you must." … Chapter 1 "Pervert!" Today was supposed to be my first day as Donovan's secretary—a nepotism hire courtesy of my parents.

I never expected to encounter a total creep before I even clocked in. I rushed out the door this morning without checking the calendar.

Halfway to the office, my period hit like a freight train. I sprinted toward the company restrooms, frantically texting my group chat for an emergency tampon.

While I was scrubbing a massive bloodstain off my white dress at the sink, a giant pair of male hands suddenly materialized in my peripheral vision.

They held out a paper towel. "Here." "Thanks, girl!" I snatched it in a blind panic. Then, my brain caught up with reality. This was the women’s restroom.

Why the hell was there a man in here? A scream ripped out of my throat. "Pervert!" Within seconds, the bathroom flooded with women. It was the morning rush. Everyone had a purse.

They swung their bags, beating the creep out the door one by one. Once the chaos finally died down, I finished cleaning my dress.

With my DoorDash pharmacy delivery still thirty minutes out and only five minutes left to clock in, pure panic set in until my foot brushed against something soft on the floor.

A pink velvet pouch with a tiny Peppa Pig stitched onto it. Inside? A pristine, wrapped pad. I figured some girl dropped it in the scuffle.

I’ll just borrow this and replace it later. But after tearing through the entire office floor that week, not a single woman claimed ownership of the Peppa Pig pouch.

I had to drop the investigation. I shoved the little pink bag into my desk drawer for safekeeping. My original plan was to make Donovan hunt down the bathroom creep.

But according to the office gossip, the CEO caught a lastminute redeye out of the country the exact morning I arrived. Men were truly useless. I had to handle it myself.

I spent days digging. Zero clues. The creep got lucky. The security cameras were supposedly "under maintenance" and clicked back on precisely one second after he vanished.

Life at the office quickly became… indistinguishable from lounging at my private Hamptons estate. Donovan had been gone for a solid month. I was his secretary.

No boss meant zero work. My parents had been living in Europe for years. They were too busy to even FaceTime me. I considered myself lucky if I got a single text back.

Thank god I found ways to entertain myself. I spent my midnight hours wilding out in the comment sections of TikTok thirst traps.

By day, I was Vivienne—Manhattan’s untouchable trustfund princess.

By night, I transformed into the ultimate unhinged thirsttrap critic under the handle Princess Peaches (who farts little milky clouds).

I sprawled out on my massive, diamondencrusted king bed, swiping through my For You Page. "Smash! Smash! Hard smash!" Endless shirtless men. Abs, sweat, lipbites.

I was completely in the zone. Until my thumb froze over the glowing screen. Chapter 2 The screen filled with a single photo of a man’s broad back.

Paired with a lofi audio track, he gave off an untouchable, icy aura. The comments were feral. He is the literal blueprint for a dark romance male lead.

I paused for a fraction of a second. My thumbs flew across the keyboard. A deeply unhinged comment materialized on the screen.

Thinking about another girl getting a turn on that makes me sick to my stomach. Then, I swiped away. On to the next victim. My life motto? Swipe fast. Catch flights, not feelings.

The next morning, I sat at Donovan’s executive desk, stifling a massive yawn. My phone buzzed. Open the door. Panic spiked through my chest. Why was Donovan back so early?

How the hell was I going to explain the literal mountain of junk food covering his imported mahogany desk?

While Donovan was gone, I had essentially turned his corner office into my own personal frat house. I hoarded snacks like a doomsday prepper, refusing to let anyone inside.

Life had been beating me to a pulp, but somehow I was still bouncing back. Oh, wait. That was just the Haribo gummy bear I was aggressively chewing. Bang!

The frantic pounding on the heavy oak door made me jump. I ripped it open, desperately trying to use my tiny frame to block the view of my snack empire.

Donovan stood there, chest heaving. His suit was slightly rumpled, radiating that distinct, exhausted juststeppedoffaprivatejet energy. "Donovan. I mean, Mr. CEO.

Sir—" Under his dark, scrutinizing glare, my voice completely abandoned me. I swallowed my excuses right along with the gummy bear.

I dropped my gaze, nervously picking at my cuticles. I knew turning his pristine office into a 7Eleven was a massive red flag.

If he threw all my snacks in the trash, I’d take the hit. Just throw out the snacks, don't throw me out. I braced myself for the eviction notice.

Instead, a sharp hiss of breath left his lips. My head snapped up. Donovan was impatiently tugging at his silk tie, his jaw clenched. The memory clicked. "Mr. CEO, wait!

I have a new tie right here." I scrambled, shoving the fabric into his hands. "I told you, that tendollar Amazon Prime tie doesn't suit your tax bracket." The absolute audacity of my statement seemed to extinguish his rage.

He stared at me in disbelief. "This? Ten dollars?" "Uh, yeah." I scratched the back of my neck. "Broke girls gotta budget.

Save where you can, spend where you must." Donovan saw right through my bullshit. He reached out.

His calloused fingertip grazed my earlobe, tapping the microscopic diamond stud. "You dropped twelve million dollars on this at Sotheby's, and you're broke?" Before I could formulate a lie, his hands clamped onto my hips.

He shoved me backward. The hard edge of the mahogany desk bit into my lower spine. He pulled out his phone and shoved the screen inches from my face. A TikTok comment.

Over a hundred thousand likes. I opened my mouth to kiss his ass, but my eyes widened as the text registered.

It was my exact comment from last night. "Are you saying I have potential as an influencer?" I choked out, a nervous laugh scraping my throat.

Donovan boxed me in, pressing his thighs flush against mine. The physical distance between us evaporated into a heavy, suffocating heat.

His low voice carried a subtle hint of anger. "You like to ride? Then ride this." I tuned out the words leaving his mouth.

My gaze dropped, instantly hijacked by the undeniable friction pressing against my skirt. I swallowed hard. The sound was deafening in the quiet office.

I used to gossip with the girls. I thought six inches was the absolute gold standard. Looking down now? Conservatively… eight. My silence made him hesitate.

The crushing grip on my hips loosened a fraction. "Did I…" His breath hitched, fanning hot across my collarbone. "Am I hurting you?" I shook my head and flashed him a feral grin.

Seizing the tiny window of opportunity, I swiped my hand up to tap him right in the groin, then dropped to the floor, ducked past him, and bolted for the supply closet.

Chapter 3 What a total weirdo. Who actually asks for that? Donovan explicitly told me to ride it. To crank it.

I spent the entire walk to the storage sheds trying to regulate my breathing. This was my very first official assignment from my boss. I could not fumble the bag.

My parents had kept me locked away in bubble wrap my entire life. This specific, chaotic skill? I had to learn it in absolute secret. I was a quiet girl.

I hated things that buzzed too loud, so it had been years since I last cranked anything up. I never expected a billionaire CEO to have a hardcore obsession with vintage tractors.

I tore through the dusty storage shed until my fingers finally wrapped around the biggest, thickest piece of solid metal I owned.

I dragged the heavy iron handcrank right up to Donovan's chest. "Is… is this okay?" Donovan looked at my face, then slowly dropped his gaze to the massive metal rod gripped in my hands.

He froze. A dark flush instantly scorched its way up his neck, turning the tips of his ears red. His voice was completely destroyed.

Thick with gravel. "I mean… I’m not opposed to it." I could instantly tell he was a virgin at this. Totally out of his depth.

But with something like this, you absolutely cannot show fear on your first try, or you’ll never generate enough force to thrust it in.

Taking his strained consent as a green light, I dragged Donovan straight back to my Hamptons estate. The staff had the day off.

The sprawling, multimilliondollar mansion was completely dead. Just the two of us. I ordered Donovan to close his eyes.

Then, I gripped the heavy iron crank, zeroed in on the rusted slot, and aggressively shoved it deep inside. Donovan wasn’t prepared for the friction.

The suddenness of my action made his eyes snap open in shock. "Wait. Right here? Out in the open?" I arched an eyebrow. Where else? VROOOOM.

A massive roar ripped through the courtyard. The sheer horsepower of the vintage John Deere made the entire estate tremble.

I revved the antique beast and threw my leg over the metal seat, straddling it. I cranked my voice to maximum volume to cut through the mechanical screaming. "You hopping on?

I’ll take you for a ride!" The engine was absolutely deafening. I couldn’t hear a single syllable Donovan was mouthing at me from the ground, so I sighed and swung my leg back down.

The exact second my boots hit the pavement, the engine violently backfired. BANG! My skull split open. Whitehot agony spiked directly behind my eyes. I froze.

My lungs completely forgot how to expand. The world tilted, shattering into a million jagged, screaming fragments that clawed at the inside of my brain. Donovan slammed into me.

His massive hands clamped firmly over my ears, completely sealing off the outside world. "I’ve got you." His voice was a raw, desperate vibration sinking straight through my skin. "I'm right here." The frantic, jagged pieces in my mind instantly dissolved.

His absolute heat bled into my icy skin, heavily grounding me. In Manhattan high society, I was known as the ultimate canary in a gilded cage.

Diagnosed with severe auditory sensory processing issues. No loud noises. No chaos. It was the exact reason my parents banned me from ever touching the vintage tractor again.

I stared up at Donovan. His jaw was locked tight, his chest heaving with way more panic than I felt. A vicious, entirely involuntary stutter rippled through my chest.

My pulse completely lost its rhythm. Ring. Ring. The heavy spell snapped.

I shifted awkwardly, my gaze dropping to stare fixedly at the expensive fabric of his slacks. "Your phone." Donovan swore under his breath, stepping back to dig the device out of his pocket.

I finally sucked in a ragged breath of air. The coastal breeze whipped past us, but the skin along my jawline was still burning.

The heavy, calloused imprint of his palms felt physically seared into my flesh.

After hanging up, Donovan snatched my phone out of my hand and aggressively typed his personal number into my contacts. He had an emergency meeting to catch.

He ordered me to head back to the office by myself this afternoon. I nodded rapidly, totally compliant. The legendary, coldblooded corporate tyrant wasn’t actually that terrifying.

The second his taillights vanished down the driveway, I whipped out my phone and blew up the group chat. GIRLS. Stop the debate. I saw the blueprint.

I swear on my life, it’s a solid eight inches! Chapter 4 An emergency pitch deck landed on my desk that afternoon.

Sure, I was Manhattan royalty—a literal trustfund baby—but throwing together a corporate slide deck was child’s play. I finished it and hit send.

Less than three minutes later, a roar shattered the glass walls of the executive suite. "Who drafted this garbage? A middle schooler could pitch a better strategy!" My jaw locked.

My fingernails dug crescent moons into my palms. My name was literally stamped in bold on the title slide. Donovan absolutely saw it. He was doing this on purpose.

I stayed at my desk until 9 PM, reformatting the deck. The executive floor was dark and empty. I stared at Donovan's contact in my phone. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Should I tell him to get some sleep? I deleted the draft. Absolutely not. He spent the entire afternoon publicly humiliating me. I unlocked the front door to my penthouse.

A weird, heavy lump formed in my throat. Growing up, nobody had ever dared to scold me like that. I was mentally cursing Donovan out when my phone vibrated. An iMessage.

You home safe? Followed by a ridiculously outofcharacter Golden Retriever emoji. He tore me apart in front of the entire board, and now he’s acting like he actually cares?

Mind your business, before I file an HR complaint. I tossed my phone onto the marble counter and went to wash my face.

When I came back, my lock screen was completely hijacked by a massive block of texts. He explained everything.

He ripped my deck apart so the rest of the floor wouldn’t instantly label me a nepo baby. He had to put on a ruthless show to protect me from the corporate sharks. I sighed.

It made toxic, twisted sense. The next morning, Donovan walked out of the elevator sporting a massive, ugly bruise along his jawline. I immediately shot him a text.

What happened to your face? The typing bubble appeared instantly. Nothing. Got bodyslammed by a dog on my way out. You… make a habit of aggressively wrestling dogs?

He replied with a sweating emoji. Before I could type a comeback, a notification popped up from my mother. A forced blind date. I rubbed my temples.

Even New York’s untouchable elite couldn’t escape highsociety arranged marriages. I packed up my bag and headed for the elevator.

It was ninety degrees outside, but a sudden, icy prickle crawled up my spine. Someone was watching me. I stepped into the Michelinstarred restaurant.

Milton had rented out the entire floor. I genuinely questioned if I was secretly adopted. Sitting at a rosecovered table was a greasy, balding man with a pathetic neckbeard.

I immediately pivoted on my heels and headed straight for the door.

Milton shot up, casually adjusting his belt, and clamped his sweaty hand around my wrist. "Leaving so soon, Princess? Don't I get a welcome kiss?" His grip was brutal.

I opened my mouth to scream, but the dining room was a ghost town. Even the waitstaff had vanished. Pure survival instinct kicked in.

I grabbed a heavy crystal wine bottle off the nearest table and smashed it violently over his head. Before Milton could even hit the ground, the heavy mahogany doors kicked open.

Donovan stood there, radiating pure, lethal energy. Milton, bleeding and oblivious, actually grinned. "Donovan! Want to join the fun?" Donovan didn't even blink.

He closed the distance in two strides and buried his custom Oxford shoe straight into Milton’s chest, kicking him to the floor. Donovan stared down at the pathetic mess.

His voice dropped to absolute zero. "There's a chill in the air.

Liquidate Milton's entire holding company by morning." Milton gasped on the floor, bleeding and suddenly bankrupt, completely failing to process reality.

Donovan scooped me up into his arms and carried me out of the restaurant. I tipped my head back and squinted up at the blazing, ninetydegree summer sun. Whatever.

He was the billionaire CEO. If he said it was freezing, I guess I needed a coat. Chapter 5 I sank into the buttery leather of Donovan’s passenger seat.

I stared at his sharp profile as he steered the car. Something felt entirely off. That massive, dark bruise on his jawline from this morning? It was completely gone.

Did I hallucinate the whole thing? I reached up to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, only to poke my bare skin. Right. I wasn't wearing them.

He invited me back to his place for lunch. I didn't say no. Being Manhattan royalty meant his penthouse was somehow more obnoxious than my family's estate.

A custom glass cellar dominated the living room, holding millions of dollars in vintage wine. And yet, the ruthless CEO had entirely too much free time.

Every single bottle had a tiny pink ribbon tied around its neck. I decided to fish for information. "Your sister must be heavily into her coquette era.

She sounds adorable." I watched his face closely. Every single billionaire heir in this city had that one girl—the one that got away. A ghost they couldn't get over.

I was definitely catching feelings for Donovan, but I refused to ask him straight up. His dark eyes lit up at the mention of her. A spike of pure anxiety hit my chest.

But the second he confirmed he actually did have a younger sister, the heavy knot in my stomach untangled.

The glass bottles were spotless, but the faded pink silk ribbons showed obvious signs of age. He was fiercely loyal to his family.

A man who cared that deeply wouldn't be a walking red flag in a marriage. Donovan headed into the massive chef's kitchen to prep lunch, telling me to make myself at home.

I wandered down the hall and pushed open the heavy oak doors to his study. The sharp, clinical scent of rubbing alcohol hit me instantly. I mentally rolled my eyes.

Leave it to a psycho CEO to have a home office that smelled like a sterile hospital wing. A halfopen envelope sat pinned under a heavy brass paperweight on his desk.

The paper was worn, covered in heavy creases. It was clearly something he read obsessively. Half of it hung precariously off the edge of the mahogany wood.

I reached out to push it back to safety. I didn't mean to snoop.

But the ink was dark, and the absolute, desperate devotion bleeding through the messy handwriting was impossible to ignore. My eyes snagged on the signature at the very bottom.

Your loving wife. My pulse flatlined. When my parents forced me into this secretary gig, it was a blatant setup. A highsociety matchmaking scheme.

Donovan had looked my father dead in the eye and sworn he had zero romantic entanglements. No secret girlfriends. No scandals. Right. Because a secret wife isn't a girlfriend.

My heart dropped. Nobody had ever played me like this in my entire life. Much less the Donovan family. I snatched the envelope.

I was going to march into that kitchen and tear him apart. Then, the pain hit. A whitehot spike drove itself directly into the base of my skull. My vision fractured.

The hollow sting of betrayal mutated into pure, physical agony. My lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. The room spun wildly off its axis.

In a fit of absolute rage, I blindly swept my arm across the shelf. Dozens of hardcover books crashed to the hardwood floor.

Hidden behind the fallen stack, a silver picture frame stood completely exposed. A man and a woman, tangled in a tight, desperate embrace.

Fighting through the blinding pain, I grabbed the cold metal frame and pulled it close, only to find the faces staring back at me were impossible to believe. "Don't!" Donovan’s voice shattered the silence.

I ripped my gaze away from the glass. He stood frozen in the doorway, the color completely drained from his face. A searing heat flooded my eyes.

The first tear broke free, burning a hot, wet trail down my cheek. "Donovan…" My thumb dragged slowly across the smooth glass. Across his face. Across my face.

A violent sob ripped its way out of my throat. My vocal cords completely gave out. "Donovan." My voice was a ragged, unrecognizable gasp. "I remember.

I remember everything." Chapter 6 Donovan closed the distance between us in three massive strides. "The doctors warned me." His voice was pure gravel. "They said the shock could trigger a full memory collapse.

That's why I kept you in the dark." He crushed me against his chest, asking if I remembered how the amnesia started. I shook my head against his coat.

I didn't want to dig into that black hole. Knowing I was the wife on that paper was all the anchoring I needed. Donovan promised a literal royal wedding.

He swore he would rewrite every single milestone we lost to the void. Over the next few weeks, watching him obsessively micromanage the wedding plans triggered phantom memories.

It felt just like our prep school days. Growing up, Donovan dragged me everywhere. Even to his study sessions. I was never the quiet, aesthetic type.

While other girls sat at mahogany desks highlighting textbooks, Donovan was always hunting me down.

Yanking me out of oak trees, dragging me away from the riverbank, or pulling me off the playground slides. But now, I was practically a glass doll. Bedridden.

The sudden flood of recovered memories was too much for my brain to process. Whitehot migraines randomly spiked behind my eyes.

Donovan completely cut off my access to the outside world. He told me to just breathe. He would handle the rest.

But the dead silence before a hurricane is always the most suffocating. Donovan started pulling midnight shifts at the executive tower.

I spent hours simmering a soup for him and drove straight to headquarters. My Aston Martin hadn't even reached the underground garage when my headlights snagged on two figures.

A man and a woman were tightly tangled together, and I instantly recognized the sharp cut of his custom suit. He reached up, his thumb reverently wiping a tear from her cheek.

Then he forcefully pulled her into his chest. Her hands hovered stiffly in the air behind his back. Click. I flipped my high beams on.

Searing white light instantly locked them in the crosshairs. I shoved my car door open. My heels struck the concrete. The woman flinched.

She scrambled to hide her face, frantically shoving a velvet box into Donovan's hands. Donovan spun around. He lunged forward to grab her back.

I locked my fist into his suit jacket. But his forward momentum was ruthless. Snap. A cry of pain escaped my lips as the sheer force completely tore off my custom acrylic nail.

Hot, wet blood instantly cascaded down my index finger. Donovan froze. He pivoted, his eyes dropping to the blood, and reached for my hand. Smack.

I slapped his hand away. "Were you treating me like a literal ghost just now?" I was on the verge of a breakdown. Watching him hold another woman physically hollowed out my chest.

My parents were MIA in Europe. I was completely isolated in New York with a fractured brain. Donovan was my only anchor. The only person tethering me to reality.

He drove me to the ER in dead silence. I waited for the frantic gaslighting. The desperate excuses. Nothing.

Not a single word until the sterile gauze wrapped tightly around my finger. "So you're just accepting the cheating allegations?" If he wasn't going to speak, I would just lay everything out on the table. "I was Manhattan royalty.

I certainly didn't have a shortage of men queuing up for me." Before Donovan could open his mouth, the ER doctor treating my hand suddenly stopped.

She reached up and pulled down her blue surgical mask. She kept her head bowed. "I'm so sorry, Vivienne.

I'm the reason you and my brother are fighting." She slid that familiar velvet box straight into my uninjured hand. I stared at the pristine packaging, completely lost.

Then I tilted my chin up. My lungs stopped working. A massive, gruesome scar dominated her face.

It violently slashed from the corner of her left eye, dragging all the way down to her right jawline. The skin was heavily puckered, crusted with dark, peeling scabs.

Sabrina dropped her gaze to the floor. Her trembling fingers pried the velvet lid open. "Vivienne… I wanted to give you this necklace personally. But I was terrified.

I knew you lost your memory.

I knew this face would traumatize you." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "That's why… that's why Donovan was holding me." Chapter 7 The image of that jagged scar burned itself into my retinas.

A fragmented memory flickered—Donovan, standing in a sterile hospital corridor, holding a female doctor just like this. The base of my skull gave a familiar, vicious throb.

Through the blinding static, a name fought its way to the surface. "Sabrina?" The word tasted rusty on my tongue. "You're Sabrina?" Sabrina's eyes lit up with pure joy.

She lunged forward, her hands clamping excitedly over mine. "Vivienne… you remember me?" "Ah—fuck! My hand." She had squeezed my freshly bandaged fingers.

Sabrina instantly recoiled, a sheepish, apologetic smile breaking through her tears. She quickly excused herself to check on her other ER patients. Donovan stepped into my space.

His large hand palmed the back of my head.

The suffocating tension vanished, replaced by a ruthless, mocking smirk. "So, you admit you cheated, is that it?" He parroted my exact words, dragging out the syllables in a shamelessly teasing, mocking tone.

I shoved my good hand squarely into his solid chest. "Why the hell didn't you just explain it out there?" His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. "You saw her face, Vivienne.

Ever since the amnesia… Sabrina begged to see you. I blocked her every single time. I didn't want the trauma of her scar to trigger you." I went completely quiet.

I dug my nails into my palms, trying to force my brain to conjure the origin of that horrific wound. Nothing. Just an agonizing spike of pressure behind my eyes.

Seeing the haunted look pooling in Donovan's dark eyes, I let it go. Pulling at that thread would only make us both bleed. The wedding date was closing in fast.

Donovan promised to handle my absentee parents, completely cutting me out of the stressful logistics. I didn't care.

They were probably living it up on a yacht in Monaco, leaving me on read for weeks. They were soulmates. I was just their biological consequence. But that didn't matter anymore.

I was finally getting my own happily ever after. Donovan was locked in backtoback board meetings. He asked me to swing by Fifth Avenue to pick up our custom wedding bands.

I figured I'd hit up Tom Ford while I was at it and replace his entire tragic collection of tendollar Amazon ties.

The luxury department store was absolutely packed with weekend foot traffic. A massive hand shot out of nowhere. It clamped violently over my mouth.

I was yanked backward into a pitchblack fitting room. Pure panic seized my throat. I thrashed wildly against the solid wall of a chest, but the grip was absolute iron.

Then, my eyes adjusted to the dim light. It was Donovan. A stark white bandage covered his jawline—the exact same spot I'd seen that nasty bruise days ago.

My mouth opened to yell at him, but his hands slammed down onto my shoulders. His knuckles were white.

His eyes were bloodshot, practically feral. "Vivienne, are you blind?" The voice was raw, desperate. "Are you seriously going to marry Donovan?" Time seemed to stand still.

He didn't use his usual arrogant tone. He sounded completely broken. Outside the curtain, a little boy shrieked. "Mommy! I want this one!" My reality violently fractured.

A blinding, catastrophic wave of nausea hit me. Through the agonizing static, a tiny, phantom voice echoed in my ear. A little boy. Running toward me. Calling me Mommy.

The heavy velvet curtain of the fitting room was suddenly pulled back. Donovan stood there. His chest heaving. I stared at the man in the doorway.

Then I stared at the man holding my shoulders. Two identical faces. The missing puzzle piece slashed through my brain. Donovan had a twin brother. Brooks.

Donovan stepped into the cramped space. He reached out for me. "Don't fucking touch me!" I shoved him hard in the chest.

I tore past him, bursting out of the fitting room and sprinting blindly through the crowded aisles of the mall. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were completely coated in glass.

The memory wasn't just a flash anymore. It was a torrential, suffocating downpour. I had a baby. My baby was dead. Donovan had killed him. I could hear it.

The sterile beep of the monitors. The cold, clinical tone of his voice echoing in the ICU. Stop resuscitation. I slammed the heavy front door of the penthouse shut.

My knees gave out