Skylar
Andrew mutters under his breath, frustration evident on his face as he turns to face the intruder.
“Good morning, Mr. Easton,” Andrew greets the man, his voice strained with forced civility.
The man must be in his late thirties, but the dour expression etched into his features gives him a grumpy air that adds an extra ten years to his overall demeanor.
“Are you here to gloat now that you’ve secured all the necessary approvals for your project?”
“Mr. Easton, I believe we can collectively find joy in the fact that we will provide a safe space for women who have endured unimaginable hardships."
The resident remains unmoved, his arms crossed tightly as he clings to unwavering skepticism. "Well, I couldn’t care less about your fancy plans. This project will bring down the value of
