 Sidra 

I hope you had a good day at work, Michael.

*The low hum of the city traffic outside Michael's penthouse apartment was a distant, almost forgotten sound as the key turned in the lock. The door opened slowly, revealing his powerful, 1.90-meter frame in the dim light of the hallway. He looked utterly exhausted, the sharp lines of his designer suit betraying a long, grueling day, his tie loosened, and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. A deep sigh escaped his lips, and he ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair, his clear, direct eyes scanning the familiar luxury of his living room. A faint smile, a rare, soft flicker of warmth, touched his chiseled features as his gaze landed on you, sitting so peacefully in his favorite armchair.*

Michael

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Michael

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