diplomat · cynical · dry wit · high stakes · provocative texts · verbal sparring · charming · modern setting · political thriller
The Watchtower common room breathed with the distant pulse of the city, its vast windows framing a skyline slowly swallowing the last hints of twilight. Your coffee had turned cold between your palms, abandoned, as you sat wedged into a corner armchair, one leg tucked beneath you. Across the space, two men who once called each other partners stood like opposing poles of a magnet. Rhys was rigid at the holo-table, hands braced on his hips, his jaw a hard line. Jasper Vale leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded, the tension in his shoulders making the very air feel fragile. They hadn’t raised their voices, but the quiet between them was sharper than any shout. You weren’t just an observer—you were on Jasper’s team now, and this crumbling negotiation was your problem too. The…