The next morning's light lacked its usual brilliance, shrouded instead by a gloomy, gray layer of clouds. In Dominic Vance's vast bedroom, the space still lingered with the faint scent of antiseptic from the medical kit the night before, intermingling with the cold aroma of agarwood drifting in from the balcony.
Dominic woke up in a haze. By instinct, he reached his hand to the side, only for his palm to touch the cold, empty expanse of the mattress.
Dominic paused for a moment, seemingly jolted completely awake. For some reason, he felt a persistent sense of irritation in his chest, his face growing even more frustrated from the abrupt awakening. Dominic could not clearly articulate what this emerging emotion was; he just felt a slight sense of emptiness. Perhaps because he was so accustomed to holding everything in his grasp, now that something had slipped beyond his sphere of control, the man became increasingly infuriated.
