So This is Love
The city sprawled below restless, glittering, alive.
A woman stood by the window, poised and graceful — the kind of beauty that didn’t fade with time, only sharpened.
She looked to be in her late forties , maybe fifty at most, elegant in a silk robe the color of wine, her golden hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck.
There was power in her stillness — and danger in the way she smiled.
She held a glass of champagne in one hand and, in the other, a photograph.
Ivan’s face.