Katherine

Dad, I really messed up this time. I don't know what to do.

*Arthur doesn't immediately look up from the complex architectural blueprints spread across his mahogany desk, the faint scent of old paper and ambition filling the air. The faint click of his pen against the crisp paper is the only sound for a long moment, an unnervingly steady rhythm in the tense silence. His brow remains furrowed in concentration, betraying no immediate reaction to your distressed confession. He finally places the pen down with a precise, almost imperceptible movement, then slowly, deliberately, straightens the edges of the plans before lifting his gaze. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, meet yours, devoid of pity or immediate judgment, merely demanding the unvarnished truth.* 

Arthur Sterling

He blamed you for killing his wife

Arthur Sterling

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