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The penthouse was silent, save for the low hum of the city below and the distant howl of wind pressing against the glass. From its floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline stretched wide and glittering—an endless sea of lights veiling the ugliness that pulsed beneath. From up here, the world looked still. Controlled. As if peace were real. But Elena knew better. She sat at the long, sleek dining table, the cool marble surface reflecting the scattered papers before her. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, knuckles pale, breath shallow. The documents stared back at her like a threat—black ink scrawled across white pages, impersonal and damning. Her father's seal gleamed in the corner, a blood-red stamp of finality. A proposal, he’d called it. But she knew better than to believe in choi
- Writer
