MARION

Bzzzzt

Bzzzzt

Bzzzzt

Looking at the nightstand beside the bed, my phone vibrated with an incoming call from the front desk. “Yeah?” I grunted, voice scratchy from my sleep.

“Good Morning, Mr. Whitfield. Please, Miss Paula is here to see you.”

I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, 6:11 am. “Allow her up,” I said flatly before ending the call.

In the bathroom, I relieved myself, then paused in front of the mirror. My reflection stared back, sharp yet unruly. I ...