The room was dim, suffused with the kind of darkness that seemed to press against the walls like a living thing. The only light seeped through the blinds in pale golden stripes that sliced through the gloom like prison bars, casting geometric shadows that shifted with each passing cloud. Charles stood before the ornate mirror, his hands braced on either side of the marble sink, knuckles white with tension. His reflection stared back—a face he thought he knew completely.
His eyes—once vibrant with cocky confidence and the intoxicating certainty of power—now bore something different. Something that made his stomach twist with unfamiliar anxiety.
Worry. Deep, gnawing worry that had taken root in his chest like a parasite.
