Michael is sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. Papers and documents are strewn across the table, but what caught my attention was the glass of whiskey by his side. Michael isn't a man to drink so early in the morning, and seeing him this way only confirmed my fears.
I knock softly on the doorframe. "Michael?"
He doesn't move at first, as if he hadn't heard me. After a few seconds, he finally looks up, his eyes bloodshot and tired. "Isabella…" His voice sounds strained, carrying the weight of something much deeper.
I step into the office, shutting the door behind me. "What's going on?"
Michael sighs and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's complicated."
