057 —

Julian’s POV

I didn’t even flip on the big lights when I got home. I just that one dim lamp in the corner of the bedroom—the one that barely lights anything, and the soft room lights was on, throwing long, dark shadows over the walls and making the whole place feel closed in, like a cave.

My jacket was fucking lost. Probably still bunched up on the car seat. My tie? I’d ripped it off, tossed it somewhere in the hall like it didn’t cost more than most people make in a week. My shirt hung open, buttons undone the whole way down, my chest bare and sticky with sweat. I was breathing heavy, like I’d run up the stairs instead of taking the lift.

I dropped hard on the long leather couch in the sitting corner in my bedroom. One leg stretched out straight, the other bent with my foot planted on the floor. One arm flung over the backrest, my fingers just dangling. The other hand wrapped tight around a whiskey glass—third or fourth pour, I’d stopped counting.

The cigarette between my fingers bur