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SLOANE
The morning air was crisp, filtering through the half-open kitchen window, carrying the distant hum of the city waking up.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, blending with the faint aroma of toast and scrambled eggs that had been left untouched on the dining table.
The clinking of a spoon against porcelain was the only sound filling the quiet space, save for the occasional rustle of paper as Vincein flipped through his file.
I sat elegantly, dressed in a fitted white shirt neatly tucked into a black short leather skirt, my posture effortlessly poised as I stirred my coffee absentmindedly.
My long, straightened hair cascaded down my back, the silky strands resting against my waist. We both were waiting for Michele to attend the meeting with Claude
