ALEX THORNE
The sound of soft footsteps echoed faintly across the marble floor, breaking the quiet rhythm of the morning. I didn't have to look up to know it was her. Madison always walked like she wasn't quite awake yet — slow, unsure, but somehow still graceful in her own clumsy way.
She appeared at the edge of my vision, her hair a tousled mess, her pajama top hanging loosely off one shoulder. She rubbed at her eyes like a sleepy cat, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a yawn and a groan combined.
I hid my smirk behind the morning paper. "Morning," I said casually, flipping a page.
She mumbled something that could've been "good morning," though it was buried in a half-yawn as she plopped into the chair across from me. The maid immediately placed a cup of co
