Savannah's POV
Deal or no deal?
The silence struck me the moment I crossed the threshold into our house.
Stale alcohol mixed with burning tobacco assaulted my senses, triggering a harsh cough that bounced off the empty walls.
Dawn was just breaking, casting pale rays across what had once been our pristine living room but now resembled a disaster zone.
A crystal tumbler lay shattered on the Persian rug, the amber liquid seeping so deep into the fibers that I knew no amount of cleaning would erase the stain.
Near the fireplace, a Cuban cigar continued to smolder, its acrid smoke choking the air while ash scattered across the polished oak, leaving dark scorch marks in its wake.
Jonathan sprawled unconscious across the leather sectional, wearing nothing but a terry cloth robe that barely covered his torso. Droplets of water still clung to his olive skin. Ironically, he was the only thing in this wreckage that didn't reek of a seedy tavern.
