Alex
Sleep was supposed to come easier when you were rich. It should have been a walk in the park. Something you just stretched your hands and had.
That’s what they told you. But they didn’t tell you that you could buy better sheets, blackout curtains, super comfy foam, air-conditioning that hummed like peace — and still, the mind refused to shut up.
I had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, lying flat on the comforter, listening to the city mutter through the glass walls. Horns in the distance. Wind brushing against the balcony. Somewhere below, laughter drifted from a rooftop bar.
It sounded alive.
I didn’t remember the last time I felt that way.
I rolled over, the sheets cold where no one had been sleeping. I should have been used to this by now — the silence, th
