Sonya
The glass of wine swirled in my hand, a deep crimson pool catching the glow of the chandelier above.
I tipped it, watching the way the liquid curled along the edge before slipping back into the glass.
My bare feet sank into the velvet rug, the kind woven by artisans whose names I would never bother to learn.
The city stretched beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows, lights flickering against the midnight sky, but none of it could soothe the storm raging inside me.
I had everything.
A sprawling apartment furnished with elegance. Gold-trimmed tables. Imported marble.
Silk drapes that rippled at the faintest brush of air. A kitchen stocked with wines older than some families’ bloodlines.
People would kill for a fraction of what I possessed. And yet, here I was, pacing like a cag
