88: Broken

Williams POV.

Nights bled into days, and days into nights. I’d lost track of time. My penthouse felt like a hollow prison, the silence suffocating, hitting at me. The city lights outside shone in mocking way, as if taunting me with the life I was supposed to be enjoying. Billionaire, powerful, respected—none of it meant a damn thing when you were alone, miserable, and aching for something you couldn’t have. Or rather, someone.

Allison.

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the bottom of the empty whiskey glass in my hand. It was the same routine every night now. Drink, drown in self-pity, and wait for sleep that never really brought peace. I’d tried to fill the void—God knows I tried. Expensive liquor, women who threw themselves at me, meaningless conversations. But it was all just noise. The moment I got one of them back to my place, the haze would clear, and I’d feel nothing. No desire, no distraction—just emptiness. So I’d send them away, frustrated and confused, while I drowned