101_Wreckage

Jennifer POV

The taste of gin burned as it slid down my throat, bitter and biting, nothing like the expensive liqueurs I used to sip while signing fashion deals and flashing teeth at fake friends. My hand trembled as I poured another glass, ignoring the way my silk robe clung to my skin with a sheen of sweat. The penthouse was a wreck, curtains drawn tight, the once-gleaming marble floor now littered with crumpled papers, overturned glasses, and half-eaten takeout boxes. My world, ...