Orion VonGiovanni

His keys hit the obsidian counter with a metallic clink as he kicks off his shoes, the leather thudding against the floor. The knot of his tie feels suffocating, and his cufflinks refuse to come undone without a fight. He catches her perfume—sweet, soft, with a whisper of something wild beneath the elegance—and it hits him like a shot to the ribs. "You?" he calls into the silence, padding toward the kitchen-living room with heavy steps. "I know I'm late. Super late. And I'm sorry."