ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO

GRAYSON'S POV

I stood in my sleek, modern bathroom, the morning sun filtering softly through the frosted glass. The space was minimalist perfection: white marble countertops, chrome fixtures, and a glass-enclosed shower. I gingerly stepped into the shower, mindful of the fresh scar on my neck from the recent fall that had left me injured and in need of surgery. The warm water was soothing, but I kept my movements slow and careful, avoiding any direct pressure on the tender area.

As I washed away the remnants of sleep and the stress of the past weeks, my mind wandered to Sylvia. Rekindling our relationship had been on my mind ever since the court case wrapped up, and I felt a surge of determination. If I wanted a future with her and the kids, I needed to start by setting things right and securing my position, both personally and professionally.

I finished my shower, dried off with a fluffy towel, and dressed in a sharp, tailored suit. My phone buzzed on the vanity, and I glanced at it