THE morning began like any other for Oswald, his alarm jolting him awake from a restless sleep. He yanked off the duvet and pulled himself out of bed, the usual coldness in his demeanor settling in as he mentally prepared for the day ahead.
He ran a hand through his tousled hair and started toward the bathroom, but something made him pause. His sharp eyes caught sight of the bed linens, wrinkled and stained in a way that only added to the dreariness of the room. The curtains, once a pristine shade of cream, now looked dull and dust ridden. He winced, a rare expression for the usually unflappable billionaire, a very rare on
"How did it get this bad?" He muttered to himself, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, then ignoring it, he dashed into the bathroo
Downstairs, Orlanda was
