Greyson
The morning light crept in through the curtains, cold and unwelcome.
I hadn't slept. My tie still hung loose around my neck, my shirt half-buttoned and wrinkled. An empty glass, a half bottle of whiskey on the table, and the remains of last night stared back at me.
Her voice wouldn't stop replaying in my head.
I love Julian.
The way she said it, steady, with eyes locked on mine, should have sounded convincing. But her eyes… God, her eyes held the truth. That wasn't love. That was fear wearing the flimsy mask of love.
A faint clatter pulled me out of my reverie… the sound of dishes coming from the kitchen.
Mrs Porter was here.
She came twice a week, a petite, sharp-eyed woman in her sixties who my chilling silence didn't seem to bother. She'd been with my family ever since
