LUCIAN
It’s Saturday morning, and I’ve locked myself inside my home office under the pretense of work. Financial reports are spread across my desk, numbers lining up exactly where I want them, except my head isn’t here at all.
It’s stuck on the sound of laughter drifting faintly through the hallway. Corinne’s voice and unguarded laughter rises above the boys’ as they ran around the house.
The last few days have been… different. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re friends, but ever since she teamed up with my sons to turn my body into a coloring book with those markers, the edge has softened. We can actually talk for more than five minutes now without her looking like she wants to stab me with a fork.
Of course she ran her mouth once or twice since then. First about having a chauffeur
