Michael's POV
I couldn't sleep, I admitted it to myself sometime after midnight, when the ceiling above my bed had stopped appearing as a ceiling, it was more like a surface I could push against.
The penthouse was quiet in the way expensive places always are, even the city outside felt muted, distant, like it had been turned down a notch without my permission.
I lay on my back, hands folded over my stomach, staring up at the recessed lights I hadn’t bothered to turn off. My body felt tight, and coiled. It was a kind of tension that didn’t come from caffeine or long meetings but from holding something down for too long.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I reached for it too quickly, then stopped myself halfway, fingers hovering in the air like I’d been caught doing something I did
