Tristan’s POV
The world outside Tristan Montgomery’s window was vibrant and alive—city lights blinking in rhythmic harmony, cars moving in endless streams, people living their lives without a care. It was an image of movement and vitality, yet Tristan felt none of it. Inside his office, the world felt cold, detached, a far cry from the bustling life just beyond the glass.
He sat in his leather chair, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, dissipating into the dim light of the room. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the skyline, staring but seeing nothing.
“Sir, do you need anything?” his secretary, Emma, asked from the doorway, her voice hesitant.
He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance.
