In the kitchen of the Bianchi mansion, an intense aroma of fresh oregano, garlic, black pepper, and the unmistakable scent of tomato paste prevailed; every scent filled the lungs of both William and Michel as they prepared a dish of spaghetti and meatballs, Italian style.
On the marble island of the countertop, William worked the ground beef with his bare hands, mixing the spices with the precision of a surgeon and the passion of an experienced chef. Beside him, Michel struggled with a mass of flour and egg that would soon become homemade spaghetti after being processed.
The scene was almost domestic, if one ignored the small detail of the two empty whiskey bottles resting like fallen soldiers at the far end of the counter. If you looked closely, Michel's cheeks were quite red, and not exactly from tomato stains.
'This guy gets drunk way too easily,' William thought as he watched his friend looking far too relaxed while working the dough; he looked like he would fall asleep on the table if you sang him a lullaby for just two seconds.
'It's very amusing watching him like this, knowing I've had even more than him. His pride must be on the floor.' Thanks to the blessing of his body, Will obviously had a higher resistance to alcohol.
— Hey, Michel — he called out to his friend, snapping him out of it —, you're making dough, not giving a massage.
— What?... I... I'm doing it right, don't correct me while I'm working — Michel replied after the initial startle —, you're just jealous that Isabella always said my dough turned out better.
— Yeah, sure — Will scoffed —, if she's watching what you're doing right now, she'll probably appear in your dreams to hit you with the rolling pin.
— I'm doing it right, I'm doing it right, shut up already, dad — Michel protested, applying more force as he debated between ignoring his friend or throwing flour in his face.
This wasn't the first time they had cooked together, but it was the first time since Isabella had died. Despite the years that had passed, and the fact that William was no longer the same, the atmosphere felt a bit nostalgic—nostalgic but joyful at the same time.
The moment William finished his part, he washed his hands and paused the music from the speakers with a remote control. Pouring himself the last drink from the third and final bottle, William leaned back against the counter while watching Michel finish up.
'The idiot is good... Or, now that I remember...' he had almost missed a very important detail.
— Hey Miki, I forgot to tell you something when we were talking business. It's important — he commented, catching his attention before taking a sip from his glass.
— Haaaaaa, always work. Fine, just say it already — even for him, it was sometimes hard to deal with William when he went into business mode.
— Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you, Miki, because this is important and I don't want the alcohol to wipe your memory — William said with a firm voice, setting the glass on the counter before walking over to him.
— I'm listening, I'm listening... I'm just focused on this damn dough. Why didn't we buy ready-made pasta? — Michel complained, wiping his forehead with his forearm.
— Because good things require effort. Now pay attention — William stopped beside him, offering him a cloth for his hands.
— Greta came to visit me early this morning; she's having some trouble on the set of 'Juno'.
Upon hearing this, Michel stopped the rolling pin and looked up, his lawyer instincts sharpening a bit despite the whiskey in his system.
— What kind of trouble? Harassment? Breach of contract? — he fired off several questions, raising an eyebrow in annoyance and curiosity.
— Idiot producers who think they know more than she does as a director and me as a screenwriter. The usual — William explained with a shrug; it annoyed him, but it wasn't strange in the industry. — They are interfering like when Greta did the casting, messing with the pacing of scenes, and they want to change dialogue. I understand that Greta and I are rookies with no name, but I can't allow that. It's my script — he said, returning his attention to prepping the ingredients after patting Michel's shoulder a couple of times.
William placed a pot of water on the stove and then took two knives, offering one to Michel to start cutting the dough.
'If I let them ruin my triumphant entry to the Oscars as a screenwriter, I'm going to have to kill someone,' William thought coldly as he crushed a clove of garlic with the flat side of the knife.
— I want you to go to the set, tomorrow if possible. Make a legal appearance. Remind them that the script is registered and armored against the stupidity of their ideas, and that any unauthorized change is a direct violation of the author's intellectual property — William instructed, staring at him fixedly. — If that's not enough, call my brother. Tell him I need him to go "supervise the investment." Let his presence intimidate whoever needs intimidating.
Michel nodded slowly, processing the information.
— Understood. Legal pressure and corporate pressure. I'll go first thing tomorrow with the contract in hand and a rabid dog face, hahaha, they always get scared when I make that face — despite the seriousness of the matter, Michel couldn't help but joke and laugh out loud.
— Good. I knew I could count on you. Just don't bite them, puppy — William accepted, also with a smile on his lips.
In a second, silence returned to the kitchen, broken only by the sound of utensils. Michel, with unusual precision despite his drunken state, cut long strips of seasoned flour like a master; he could use the machine, but strangely, Michel was even more respectful than William regarding the tradition of making homemade dishes. A few minutes later, Michel finished cutting the last strip of pasta. It was then that, by pure chance, he glanced sideways at the wall clock, and his eyes opened a little wider than usual.
— Shit, Will. Look at the time. I have... matters to attend to — startled and somewhat nervous, Michel dropped the knife and stumbled slightly toward the sink to wash his hands and face with cold water.
William watched him with an amused smile as he dropped the first meatballs into the boiling tomato sauce and took the pasta to toss it into the boiling water as well.
— You're a lightweight, my friend. Three small bottles between two people and you're already wobbling — William mocked, enjoying the scene. — Take a break or something, because I'm sure the judge's wife won't be amused if you miss and aim for the wrong hole.
— William, shut your damn mouth — Michel protested as he splashed water on his neck before turning off the tap. — I just have business to attend to with your father.
— Yeah, whatever you say — Will raised his glass in his friend's direction and finished it in one gulp, definitively this time.
'Bless you, R.O.B. If I had my old liver, right now I'd be hugging the toilet singing opera,' he acknowledged internally. His resistance to toxins was, without a doubt, one of his favorite passive abilities.
Michel tried to knot his tie without looking in the mirror, but his fingers seemed like clumsy sausages; he simply left it hanging loosely while rushing to fix the buttons on his sleeves.
— You're very annoying, you know that? — Michel grumbled, failing the knot for the third time. — Besides, you seem made of stone. It's not normal.
— It's superior genetics, accept it. My liver evolved to new levels — William laughed, telling the absolute truth, though to Michel it sounded like a silly excuse.
— William, if something like that... — Just as Michel was about to unleash a biting retort about "bastard genetics," the doorbell rang through the whole house.
*Ding-dong.*
Both froze. William shot a meaningful look at Michel and pointed his head toward the hallway.
— You open it. I'm covered in flour and sauce.
— Why me? — Michel whispered with stage fright; he really had a problem pretending in front of whoever was ringing the bell.
— Because you're the lawyer, and you're supposed to be sober. Go! — William ordered with a silent laugh.
Michel huffed, smoothed his jacket as best he could, and walked toward the main entrance trying to walk in a straight line. William pricked up his ears from the kitchen, lowering the flame on the stove. The sound of the lock turning and the door opening was heard.
— He... hello, Natalie. What... what punctuality — Michel's voice was heard, trying to sound professional and failing olympically.
— Hello, Michel — Natalie Portman's voice arrived smooth and melodious. — No need to make that scared face. I already know William forced you to lie about the rights registration.
— Huh? Ah... yes, well, you know how he is. Everything is a master plan in his head — Michel let out a nervous laugh. — I did it for his own good, I didn't want to cause you trouble.
— I know, and I appreciate it. You're a good friend — she replied with an amused tone.
From the kitchen, William relaxed. 'Good, the queen is in a good mood,' he thought, relieved.
— It's a relief you don't blame me! — Michel exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. He took a step back to let her pass, attempting a gentlemanly bow, but his right foot got tangled with his left.
The result was a sudden movement where his shoulder slammed against the door, closing it with a sharp, loud bang.
*SLAM!*
— Damn it! — Michel shouted to the air before realizing what he had done. He turned quickly toward Natalie with wild eyes.
— I'm sorry! It was the floor! I mean, the wind... — he tried to explain, but...
Natalie's smile had vanished. Now she looked at him with narrowed eyes, that analytical gaze that could disarm anyone. She took a step toward him, invading his personal space, and sniffed the air delicately.
— Michel... You're drunk, aren't you? — she asked, with a tone oscillating between disbelief and maternal reproval. — Did you let William drink until he was in this state too?
— No, no, Nat, wait... it's just that we were celebrating and... — Michel stammered, backing away from the petite but imposing figure.
— No one is drunk here, Your Majesty! — William's voice rang out as a savior. He appeared from the kitchen archway, drying his hands on a clean cloth.
Will walked with a firm step, back straight, and a charming smile on his face. His blue eyes shone, but with clarity, not drunkenness.
— Don't press poor Miki too hard — William said, approaching them. — We only had a couple of drinks to celebrate the day's good news. The problem is that our dear lawyer has the alcohol tolerance of a teenager at his first prom — he lied shamelessly, patting Michel on the back, who smiled forcedly.
Natalie alternated her gaze between the teetering disaster of Michel and the nearly flawless figure of William. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders.
— Really, Michel... You should take better care of yourself — she said, softening her tone.
— Yeah, well... I think that's my cue to leave — Michel mumbled, clutching his briefcase as if it were a life preserver.
— Wait, you can't drive like that — Natalie sentenced, crossing her arms.
— Relax, I already took care of that — William intervened, winking at her while watching the scene with his hands in his pockets.
At that precise instant, a taxi horn honked in front of the house. The timing was so perfect that Michel looked at William as if he were a warlock.
— That's my carriage — Michel said, recovering a bit of dignity. He approached William and gave him a strong, quick hug. — Take care, brother. Tomorrow I'll handle the Greta situation.
— Wait... — William stopped him before he could walk away and began fixing his tie knot with a smile.
— Someday you have to tell me why you act like a fool in front of her, brother — Will murmured so only Michel could hear.
— Go safely. Let me know when you arrive — William replied, patting him on the back a couple of times again when he finished fixing the tie.
Michel wasted no time; he nodded to Will, waved a quick goodbye to Natalie, and fled toward the safety of the taxi waiting outside. The door closed behind him, leaving a sudden silence in the foyer.
William and Natalie stood there, looking at each other. The tension of the previous moment dissipated, replaced by a different electricity, warmer and denser.
William smiled, that smile he knew she liked, and took two long steps until he was in front of her. Without asking for permission, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her firmly against his body.
— I missed you, Dr. Portman — he whispered, lowering his head.
— It's only been a couple of hours, William — she replied, although her hands automatically went up to his chest.
He got lost in her eyes, and his gaze slowly lowered to Natalie's lips; it was as if they were calling his name. Will didn't wait any longer. He captured her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of possession and relief, erasing the taste of whiskey with her sweetness.
Natalie reciprocated at first, but then pulled back a few inches, wrinkling her nose adorably.
— Ugh... You taste like a distillery — she complained, feigning annoyance.
— Oh, really? — William let out a hoarse chuckle, dismissing it.
After looking into her eyes and seeing desire in them, without warning, his right hand slid down from her waist and squeezed her ass boldly and firmly.
— Hmm... — Natalie let out a small gasp of surprise that William took advantage of to kiss her again, this time with more intensity, his tongue invading her mouth, stealing her breath and any complaint she might have had.
When they finally separated, Natalie was short of breath and her cheeks were flushed. There was no trace of annoyance left on her face, only a bright smile and glassy eyes.
— I missed you too, idiot — she admitted in a whisper, without trying to pull away from his embrace.
They stayed like that for a few seconds, enjoying the closeness, until William's stomach growled, breaking the romantic moment.
— I guess that means dinner is almost ready — she laughed.
— Dinner awaits us — he confirmed, brushing his nose against hers.
— I need to use the bathroom for a moment to freshen up — Natalie said, pulling away slightly. But before leaving, she raised her hand and gently wiped a white smudge of flour from William's cheek with her thumb. — You're a mess, chef.
She stood on her tiptoes, gave him one last quick kiss on the lips, and headed toward the bathroom, leaving William in the hallway with a smile of absolute satisfaction and a pounding heart.
— Life is good — he murmured to himself before turning around and returning to the kitchen to finish his culinary masterpiece.
---
As Natalie disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, William wasted no time. With agile and precise movements, he began to set the table. He placed two fine crystal glasses, silverware, and a pair of long candles in the center, although the afternoon sun still streamed generously through the large windows, bathing the room in golden light.
As he served the steaming pasta onto the plates, his mind, always active, began to wander.
'I seem to recall that in 2006 she was already flirting with veganism, or at least strict vegetarianism,' he thought while garnishing the plates with a bit of fresh oregano.
His thoughts flew quickly to the immediate future. The news of his early release was a blessing, but also an hourglass that had just been turned over.
'Next week I'll be a free man. That means meetings, auditions, travel... The time to sit in front of the laptop will be drastically reduced,' he reflected, frowning slightly.
'I've barely started the first draft of *The Hunger Games* today. If I want to maintain this pace of literary production while conquering Hollywood as an actor and director, I won't be able to do it all alone.'
It was then that a business idea he had set aside a while ago flashed in his mind once more: Ghostwriters.
'I should hire a team of experienced writers and screenwriters. I give them the detailed structure, the plot twists, the character profiles, and the ending; they do the heavy lifting of filling in the prose, and I do the final review and editing to give it my touch. It's efficient. It's smart. It's undoubtedly what a tycoon would do.'
William was lighting the wick of the second candle when Natalie's voice pulled him out of his plans for literary domination.
— It smells incredible, William.
He turned, extinguishing the match with a quick flick of his wrist. Natalie was there, fresh and radiant, leaning against the doorframe.
— All ready for the queen — he said with a gallant smile.
William walked to the large windows and, ignoring the sunlight, drew the heavy curtains. The room was plunged into a romantic gloom, now illuminated by the soft dance of the candle flames.
— A little atmosphere never hurts — he commented, winking at her as he walked toward her to pull out her chair like a perfect gentleman.
— How chivalrous, Mr. Bianchi — she said sitting down, crossing her legs under the table. — Thank you.
William wasted no time sitting opposite her. The plates were served: a perfect mountain of homemade spaghetti crowned with red sauce and several juicy-looking meatballs.
However, before she picked up her fork, William noticed how her brow furrowed slightly as she looked at the meatballs with doubtful eyes.
— William... this looks delicious, but you know I'm trying to...
— Shhh, stop right there — He pointed to her plate with his fork. — Yours are special, darling. Lentils, mushrooms, breadcrumbs, and spices. Completely free of dead animals.
— Mine, on the other hand — he speared one of his own meatballs —, are 100% happy cow.
Natalie looked at him in surprise, and then a genuine smile lit up her face.
— You made two different mixtures? — she questioned, amused, but quickly feigned a serious face. — That's sweet, but you lose several points for not eating the same as me and showing solidarity.
At these words, William simply looked at her perplexed, playing along; his raised eyebrow and face of internal struggle were pure gold. He seemed lost in thought until he sighed as if he had reached a tough conclusion and made a difficult decision.
— Nat, I seriously love you, but giving up meat is like shooting myself in the foot — William said with a dramatic tone, pouring wine into the glasses. — I love food almost as much as I love you, so I would never force you to eat something you don't want, nor would I stop eating what I want. It's the perfect balance.
A blush rose to Natalie's cheeks, not because of the food, but because of the naturalness with which he had dropped that "I love you." She scoffed, trying to hide her shyness with a laugh, but her eyes shone.
— You're an idiot, but a considerate idiot — she murmured before taking the first bite.
She chewed slowly, savoring the blend of spices and the perfect texture of the pasta. Her eyes widened.
— Oh, my God... William, this is... — she swallowed and looked at him in astonishment. — It tastes almost exactly like Godmother Isabella used to cook.
The mention of his mother caused William's smile to soften, becoming more tender and nostalgic.
— She taught me well. She used to say that if you wanted to keep someone happy, you had to know how to feed their soul, not just their stomach.
— Well, you succeeded — Natalie said, raising her glass. — To Isabella.
— To Mom — William replied, gently clinking his glass with hers. The sound of crystal resonated in the intimate silence of the dinner.
They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the food and the company, until the conversation flowed into more professional territory.
— So... Are you going to tell me why you left poor William in solitude? — William asked, referring to himself.
— Don't be dramatic, it was only a few hours — Natalie replied after swallowing a bite. — Besides, I left you in good company, you weren't alone.
— Evil queen, you have no idea how much I missed you and how much I suffered from the complaints of my little brother who dreams of being a prestigious lawyer — William attacked, never losing the dramatic flair.
— Fine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — Natalie could only shake her head as she took a sip of wine. — As for what I was doing...
— I'm about to start the promotional campaign for my next movie, and I had to update some things regarding the trip — Natalie said, lowering her gaze a bit as if it saddened her to say those words.
They were just starting to have something more formal, and almost immediately they had to separate again. But well, that was the life of actors, especially if both people in the relationship were linked to the industry.
— Oh? If I remember correctly, the last thing you worked on was that movie about Goya, right? — William questioned with curiosity, even though he knew exactly which movie it was.
— Exactly, you remember well. *Goya's Ghosts* is a period film about the Spanish artist Francisco Goya — Natalie said with a smile, seeing that her man knew and remembered things about her life even if she hadn't told him much about it. — Hence the importance and pressure for the promotion; this movie is an Oscar-style film.
As Natalie spoke about this movie, William couldn't help but feel a little bad for not warning her in time. *Goya's Ghosts* was a complete box office disaster and wasn't even nominated for a single Oscar. He even remembered that some praised Natalie's performance but considered it very uneven, with very good moments but other quite bad ones.
'It's a shame, but there's nothing I can do. The movie is about to premiere, and even if I had enough money, the capricious producers wouldn't sell it to me so I could prevent its release.'
'This won't affect Natalie's career; quite the opposite, but if possible, and although some say otherwise, no actor wants a box office flop in their career.'
William took a sip of wine while watching the smiling Natalie and quickly made the decision not to mention anything about it.
— So... you'll be traveling soon. Were the procedures very complicated? I can tell Michel to handle everything for you — he asked before continuing to eat with all the calmness in the world.
— Ugh, they are exhausting, truly, but it's fine. I have my own lawyer and agent, don't bother Michel with that — she commented, wiping the corner of her lips with her napkin. — The premiere is in November, in Spain, so the advertising campaign is just getting started; there's still time.
— Besides, fortunately, it's not a summer blockbuster like *Star Wars*, so it won't be a media frenzy, but traveling is always tiring — Natalie added, also taking a small sip from her wine glass.
William nodded in understanding. Out of nowhere, a somewhat wicked smile formed on his lips as something occurred to him.
— Spain is beautiful. I hope you enjoy the ham... oh, wait, right, the lentils — he mocked. Her face was worthy of framing; somewhat angry about the joke, she struck directly.
— Hahahaha — William laughed shamelessly despite having received a soft kick under the table. — Sorry darling... hahaha.... I was just joking.
— It's not funny at all. I hope you make a great effort to make up for what you just did — Natalie grumbled while crossing her arms with a feigned unfriendly face.
— Oh, now that you mention the word effort — without any shame, Will changed the subject as fast as he could —, Nat... I have a recommendation for you.
Natalie, without lowering her arms, looked at him with curiosity barely disguised beneath her anger.
— Advice from the great director? I'm all ears then.
— You should start taking ballet classes. Nothing intense, just the basics, sporadic classes — William suggested, getting a little more serious and making Natalie put the joke aside as well. — By the time we get the green light for *Black Swan*, I want you to have the necessary foundation.
According to what he remembered from his original world, for this specific role, Natalie had spent a whole year training in Ballet and even ended up losing a lot of weight to reach perfection in the performance.
— I don't want you to have to kill yourself training against the clock and destroying your body in three months before filming. Nina Sayers is a demanding role, and I need you healthy — Will sentenced, implying it was practically an order disguised as a suggestion.
Natalie nodded slowly, processing the advice in her mind. What William said made a lot of sense. If possible, she didn't want to go to that extreme either, but if it was necessary to interpret a role she really loved, like this one, she would do it.
— You're right. I hadn't thought about it that way, but it makes sense. I'll start looking for a private instructor as soon as I get back from Europe.
— Good. I like that you're obedient — William joked, recovering his usual tone. — Besides, dancing suits you. The other day I watched *Closer* again and... let me tell you, I'm seriously considering installing a stripper pole in my bedroom.
Natalie almost choked on her wine. She put the glass on the table, her face burning with embarrassment at hearing such a thing.
— William! — she scolded him, blushing like a teenager, to the delight of Will who observed her with an innocent smile.
— What? It's an investment in performing arts — he continued with a predatory smile. — I curse Clive Owen every day. That bastard had the best view in the world and got paid for it. I am incredibly jealous.
— Stop joking about that! — she laughed, covering her face with her hands, although it was obvious she was amused by the situation. — And don't be jealous. Clive was just acting... You can have the real show whenever you want.
William's laughter stopped for a second, replaced by an intense look and a raised eyebrow.
— Be careful what you promise, Natalie Portman. I have a very good memory.
She held his gaze, defiant and flirtatious for several seconds until she blew out a breath, amused, and set out to change the subject to lower the temperature of the room.
— Speaking of great actors... Working with Javier Bardem on *Goya's Ghosts* was an incredible experience.
— That man has a presence that fills the set. He told me he's working on something new with the Coen brothers.
— Oh, really? — William knew exactly what she was talking about, but let her continue.
— Yes, a movie called '*No Country for Old Men*'. Javier says the script is strange, very quiet and violent, but that the Coens are geniuses.
— Javier is right — William interrupted with absolute certainty. — That movie is going to be a masterpiece. In fact, now that you mention it, I suggest something else: if possible, tell your agent to get you a role in the movie, leveraging your prestige and your working relationship with Bardem.
Natalie arched an eyebrow, amused by her partner's prophetic arrogance.
— Now you're a fortune teller too, Mr. Bianchi? Do you see the future in crystal balls? — she questioned.
— I'm a writer, darling. And that movie is based on a book by Cormac McCarthy that is brutal — he replied, shrugging his shoulders. — I know how to recognize an award-winning story when I see it. Remember that I am one of the best writers of this century for a beauty with the surname Portman.
— Don't use my words against me — she demanded, recognizing the reference to her words when they had argued before — but thank you, if you put it that way, I'll keep it in mind.
They continued chatting and laughing, finishing the pasta and the wine. The atmosphere was perfect, light and charged with undeniable chemistry.
— Hey... — Natalie said suddenly, looking at the kitchen side table in the distance. — Why did you and Michel drink so much? Those three bottles were full the last time I came to your kitchen. What were you guys celebrating with such zeal?
William froze with the glass halfway to his lips. He had forgotten to hide the evidence. He sighed and placed the glass on the table, staring her straight in the eyes. There was no point in hiding it anymore.
— Well... Michel brought news from the courthouse — he began, lowering his voice. — Apparently, my good behavior and some threads pulled by destiny have borne fruit.
Natalie held her breath, sensing what was coming.
— They're releasing me next week, Nat. House arrest is over for me — Will said, and immediately there was a second of absolute silence. Then, Natalie's chair screeched against the floor as she jumped to her feet.
— William! — she shouted excitedly, running to his side of the table.
He barely had time to turn his chair before she threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and hugging him tightly. William closed his eyes, inhaling her perfume, and returned the embrace, burying his face in her shoulder.
— Congratulations, free at last — she whispered in his ear, before planting many kisses on his face.
William took advantage of the momentum and, gently but firmly, forced her to sit on his lap. Natalie didn't resist; she settled into his lap, her hands caressing the nape of his neck.
William began to kiss her neck, slow, wet kisses that made her shiver.
— I want to make the most of every second with you now — he murmured against her skin. — I know as soon as I get out, things will get crazy. You have your premieres, I have to get my projects moving... We won't have all the time we'd like.
Natalie cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. Her brown eyes were full of promises.
— I'll be by your side, Will. No matter how busy we are — Natalie spoke, and she kissed him, a tender kiss that sealed that promise.
William pulled away a little, took his wine glass, and drank a last sip, looking at the wall clock with regret.
— I hate that you have to go — he said sincerely.
They remained in silence, looking at each other. The candlelight flickered in Natalie's eyes. She bit her lower lip, a doubt crossing her mind for a second before making a decision.
— And who said I want to go? — she asked in a barely audible whisper, loaded with intent. — Don't you want me to stay?
William's heart skipped a beat. He didn't answer with words. He looked at her intensely for a few seconds, communicating everything he felt. Then, he leaned in and kissed her with renewed passion, devouring her lips.
Without breaking the kiss, William stood up, carrying her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Natalie wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, clinging to him.
With determined steps, William walked toward the stairs, leaving behind the burning candles and the empty plates. The night had just begun.
....
Note 1: Hello. I really wish I could update more frequently, but I have way too much work. I'll try to make the most of my weekends to at least get ahead on some chapter drafts. Thank you to everyone who comments and shows support, and to everyone who reads in general.
Note 2: Don't forget to leave your suggestions and opinions in the comments.
Note 3: Are you guys okay with me continuing with this writing style, or should I lighten the plot a bit and not include so much dialogue?