I had a nightmare again last night.
Except this one felt realer, heavier, and far more gut-wrenching than any I had ever experienced before.
I woke up drenched in a cold sweat, my chest heaving in the darkness of the my apartment, the phantom echo of a gunshot still ringing violently in my ears. I sat up and tried my absolute best to ignore the aching, suffocating paranoia that had become my constant shadow every single day, but the truth was, it wasn't going away.
I was entirely on edge.
Every hour at the office was a battle against my own mind.
I was constantly worried about what Julian was doing, where he was, and what terrifying card he would play when he finally returned from London.
It didn't help that the atmosphere on the executive floor had grown dangerously thin; a quiet, insidious internal politics seemed to be shifting behind the scenes, a subtle undercurrent moving steadily in Julian's favor.
