JULIAN ST. CLAIR’S POV
*Low lighting. Shadows cling to the bookshelves, stretching like secrets. Rain whispers against the tall windows. The storm outside is gentle — almost tender. I sunk my bottocks in my chair, alone at my desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey in my hand. A bottle of something old and expensive rests beside me.*
*A single candle flickers near my elbow, casting gold across my face. The fire crackles softly in the hearth behind me. My eyes are distant, fixed on the space just beyond the rim of my glass. Then — a knock at the door. Not loud. Not urgent. Just enough to break the silence.*
**AIDEN**
(off-screen)
You heard?
**JULIAN**
(coldly)
I have ears, don’t I?
*The door creaks open and Aiden leans against the frame. His expression is unreadable, but his pr
