–Damon–
Dela Vega—or whoever they've got trying to ruin my operation—just handed me a mess to clean up. I sighed as I folded another shirt into my suitcase, prepping for another damn business trip.
My wife? She's beside me, determined to be helpful, carefully touching each piece of clothing I might need and handing them over.
She thinks she's just helping. But the truth is, she already has. She keeps me sane. My anchor in all this chaos. She's like my life support.
"Wow, this is a good choice, love," I said, picking up a pair of cream-colored pants—ones I'd never wear on my own.
"What color is this?" she asked, handing me a long-sleeved shirt with the same careful touch, her eyes blank yet calculating.
"That's blue."
"What shade of blue?"
I squinted. "Uhh… I don't know exactly. But it's deep blue…"
"Like navy blue? Or night blue?"
"Hmm… night blue!" I snapped my fingers.
"Pair it with those pants," she said, nudging it toward me with a slight smirk.
