My eyes scanned the room first before my body fully entered. Corners. Windows. Shadows. Old habits. Survival habits.
Then I stepped inside.
Nothing had changed.
The same wide bed stood at the center like a silent witness to time. The dark polished furniture still reflected the soft lights. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in just enough light to remind me what time of day it was.
I walked further in, my fingers brushing lightly across the surface of the drawer.
Clean.
No dust.
I pressed slightly, then lifted my fingers to check again.
Still clean.
Like someone had been maintaining the room regularly.
Like someone expected it to be used.
A quiet realization settled in my chest.
The room was being cleaned daily.
Of course.
Don never liked anything dirty. Not his business. Not his territory. Not the people around him.
Order was control.
But what made me pause wasn't the cleanliness.
It was the wardrobe.
