Gianna watched quietly as Ewan shoved the blogger roughly into one of the seats in the messy living room. The chair groaned under the sudden weight, its legs wobbling as if protesting the abuse.
She was keenly aware of Athena moving through the space with clinical precision, her gaze assessing, her mouth curling in unmistakable disgust. Gianna could relate. Entirely.
Couldn't the man keep his household clean?
The living room looked like neglect had taken up permanent residence. The walls were peeling in uneven patches, paint flaking off like scabbed skin. The cushions on the couch sagged inward, flattened by years of misuse, one of them ripped open slightly, its stuffing peeking out like a wound left unattended.
