*ORLANDO*
The sun was setting behind the sprawling skyline of the city, casting long shadows that danced menacingly across my hidden sanctuary. I could feel the tension knotting in my chest like a noose. The plan had been flawless in theory—the kind that could only come from deep pondering and a distinct desperation for revenge. Yet, here I sat, seething in my darkened kitchen, the aftermath of my failures pouring over me like an icy shower.
I was dressed in nothing but linen pants, the fabric clinging loosely to my legs, barefoot on the cool tile floor, feeling utterly vulnerable yet bursting with rage. The shards of broken glass from the final act of my fury lay scattered like my carefully conceived plots—shattered and sharp, waiting to cut through the delicate skin of my resolve. In a
