Aaron
The room feels stifling, even with the faint hum of the air conditioning rattling through the vents. I pace my office, my polished shoes brushing against the gleaming tile floor, their faint scuffing sound doing little to drown out the turmoil in my head.
What have I done?
The question echoes in my mind, relentless and sharp, slicing through every coherent thought. It refuses to let go, like a haunting refrain: *What have I done?* I can still feel her warmth, the soft curve of her body pressed against mine, the way her breath hitched when I touched her. The memory isn’t just vivid—it’s alive, thrumming beneath my skin like an unshakable current.
Meghan.
God, how did it come to this?
My gaze drifts to the desk, the epicenter of my downfall. The polished surface gleams
