Hotel nights used to mean nothing to me.
Just temporary walls, silent hallways, clean sheets I didn't care about, and a bed I barely touched because work always stretched deep into the night. I'd lived my life in airports, penthouses, meeting rooms, private lounges, safehouses, all of it blending into one endless blur where I existed without ever being anywhere.
But tonight…
London felt like a prison.
The hotel room was large with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Thames, city lights flickering on the river like stars drowning underwater. The room had every luxury a man could ask for: a king-sized bed, a marble bathroom, a bottle of aged whiskey left on the table to welcome me.
None of it mattered.
The air felt wrong.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Too empty without her.
