Azriel's Point Of View
The heavy velvet drapes of the executive suite failed to block out the dull, rhythmic thumping of bass from the ballroom downstairs. The vibration traveled through the soles of my shoes, a constant, maddening pulse that mirrored the throb building in my temples. I reached up, dragging a hand down my face, feeling every minute of the last two exhausting hours etched into my skin.
Presenting that award to Seraphina… standing beneath those blinding, white-hot stage lights while hundreds of fake smiles stared back at us, had been a chore. A necessary one, perhaps, but a chore nonetheless. The weight of those manufactured pleasantries still clung to me like smoke.
I sank into the deep leather armchair opposite Draven, letting my head fall back against the cushion. The leather creaked under my weight, releasing the scent of aged hide and polished wood into my nostrils.
