(William’s POV)
“You still drink whiskey slowly, like you're trying not to miss the taste of a single drop,” I said, setting my glass down gently on the tampered glass stool.
Chris gave a wild laugh, lifting his own glass. “And you still go in like it’s a sort of medicine. You don’t pour ice; you don’t even mix it up, you just drink like you’re in a hurry to burn your throat.”
I smirked and leaned back into the plush lounger, letting the sound of trickling water from the pool behind us fill the pause between my words and my smile.
The late afternoon sun had begun its routine descent, Its glow a golden sheen over the eye-catching rooftop of the penthouse. Down in the compound, a few exotic birds wandered freely —peacocks, quails, and guinea fowl.
Chris had a thing for animals, especial
