Edwin stood in the guest room of Kimberly's house, his eyes scanning the rows of carefully selected clothes his friend had managed to bring over from his apartment. The familiar designer labels seemed to mock him now, remnants of a life that felt increasingly distant. With the reporters camped outside his own home, this room had become his sanctuary and his prison.
He selected a simple black Tom Ford suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark Hermès tie. As he dressed, each movement felt weighted, as if he were donning armor for an impending battle.
Kimberly hovered in the doorway, his blue eyes clouded with worry. "Edwin, are you absolutely sure about this? Maybe we should wait a few more days. You're still recovering from... everything."
Edwin shook his head firmly as he knotted his tie. "
