AT THORNFIELD
"I fucking hate stepping my feet in that house." Adrian grumbled under his breath in a grumpy tone.
Adrian's footsteps echoed across the polished marble floor of the office building's lobby, his long strides purposeful, exuding authority. His sharp gaze was fixed ahead, his tailored charcoal suit pristine as always, the crisp scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nearby café. Sean walked beside him, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other holding his phone as he scrolled through emails.
"Your apartment," Sean started, not bothering with pleasantries, "you need to get it fixed." His voice held an edge of amusement, though he knew better than to push too far.
Adrian barely spared him a glance. "Then fix it." His tone was clipped, as if discussing a minor inconvenience rather than the complete destruction of his living space.
