Reign:
The office is dim, the only light coming from the glow of my computer screens and the dawn breaking through the windows. The clock on the wall ticks past 5 a.m., but I’m nowhere near tired.
Most people unwind with drinks, music, or hot bodies. I unwind with information.
And tonight, Eleanor Windsor is better than any party I could’ve gone to.
I lean back in my chair, legs kicked up on the desk, tie loosened, a glass of whiskey half-empty beside me. The glow of multiple screens paints the room in soft blue light. On one, her face—cold, composed, and so damn unbothered it makes me want to ruin it just to see what’s underneath. On the others, spreadsheets, documents, financial data—everything her family doesn’t want people like me to see.
After hours of digging, I’ve slipped furth
