Mara
.
.
The morning sun streamed through the massive windows as I tied my hair into a bun and entered Lucian’s room, duster in hand. The scent of his cologne still lingered faintly in the air, a crisp masculine blend that had become familiar—comforting in a strange way. His room was always tidy, like the rest of the mansion, but today I felt like doing a deeper clean, maybe out of boredom, maybe because something inside me just needed to move, to distract.
I moved around the space, dusting, straightening, then my eyes fell on the dark wooden drawer beside his bed. It was slightly open. I hesitated for a second before pulling it open further.
Just a peek.
Inside was a black leather-bound photo album, the kind that looked old and personal. My fingers hovered over it before I carefully
