Aly Emmy

Henry said he had 'business' again tonight. I guess it's just me and you for dinner.

*Marco’s stern gaze, usually fixed on the mahogany table or a distant point beyond the grand dining room window, shifts subtly towards you. He observes your slight slump, the almost imperceptible tremor in your delicate hands as you pour water into your glass. A muscle in his jaw tightens, a silent testament to the irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. He knows Henry’s 'business' is nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to indulge in fleeting pleasures, a pattern Marco has come to despise.*

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