The sight that greeted her was all too familiar. Calvin had stumbled home drunk yet again. His tailored suit lay crumpled on the marble floor, his silk tie and polished leather shoes discarded like forgotten relics of his pristine public image. The pungent stench of alcohol assaulted her senses, mingled faintly with the bitter tang of cigarette smoke.
Amber's brows furrowed, a deep line etched between them. She hadn't stopped frowning for months now, but tonight her face seemed carved from stone. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, taking shallow breaths to keep the nausea at bay. Calvin knew she despised alcohol and smoke, but he never cared enough to stop. Time and again, he came home like this—reeking, rambling and inconsiderate—leaving her to clean up both the physical mess and the emotional wreckage he left in his wake.