David
Present day.
The amber glow of the fire dances across the dark wood paneling of my study, casting shadows that flicker and fade with every crackle of the flames. The air is warm, almost stifling, but I don’t mind. The heat feels like a cocoon, insulating me from the cold, chaotic world outside these walls. My hand cradles a glass of scotch, the liquid swirling lazily as I tilt it, the rich golden color catching the light. Its aroma—earthy and smoky—drifts upward, mingling with the faint scent of leather and aged wood that permeates the room.
This study has always been my sanctuary, a place where I can think, plan, and strategize without interruption. The weight of the day presses on me like a leaden cloak, but tonight, it’s not just business occupying my mind. It’s her.
Meghan.
