Leila
The wheels of the chair scraped against the polished wood as I rolled into Lucas' house, the air heavy with the scent of wax and his musk - sharp, like a blade dipped in pine. I caught sight of him in the living room, sprawled in a chair, his well-tailored suit clinging to him like a second skin. He flipped through documents, his fingers moving with a rhythm that set my teeth on edge. The sight of him there, so early, twisted something in my gut. Lucas never came home before the moon climbed high. This was wrong, a c***k in the world I'd learned to navigate.
I turned to Tina, the maid pushing my wheelchair, her hands trembling slightly against the handles. "Push me upstairs to rest," I said, my voice a rasp, barely cutting through the silence.
But Lucas' head jerked up, the papers
