Billionaire's December Despair
With his eyes closed, he let the sensation wash over him, a temporary respite from the demands of the day.
After the water had rinsed away the stresses of the day, he stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a plush towel. His phone lay on the bathroom counter, a repository of digital memories and captured moments. As he scrolled through the gallery, images of Martha filled the screen, each one a stolen snapshot of a genuine smile, an animated conversation, or a fleeting glance that spoke volumes.
Bab Populer