(Aiden's POV)
Sebastian strolled into my office like he owned the place.
"Damn, Aiden," he whistled, looking around with mock appreciation. "Still cold and impersonal, I see. You ever consider decorating? Maybe a nice little plant? A picture of your wife? Something that says 'I'm not secretly a serial killer'?"
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "You sound like Marian."
"I feel like Marian," he muttered, flopping down into the chair across from my desk. "She gives me shit about my office all the time."
"She's not wrong."
Sebastian scoffed. "Alright, rich boy, like your taste is any better."
I gestured around. "Minimalism is a lifestyle choice."
"Yeah? So is having no soul." He smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
I caught that.
It was subtle—anyone else would've missed it. But I knew Sebastian. He had this effortless charm, a way of making things seem easy, like nothing ever weighed too heavily on him.
But something was off.
