Page 110 of Grizz

Not just width or height, but volume too.

“Not sure if you realized it when you were here last time, but it’s a total of five floors,” Julian says as we step inside.“Six, if you count the roof, which I’m redoing this summer.”

I slow without meaning to, the same way I did the first time, because it’s impossible not to.Back then, I clocked the size and moved on.Now, it’s the light—and the intentional absence of it—that grabs me.

The main room is massive—a combination great room, dining room, and music space—wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass.The city unfolds beyond it in darkness.Central Park lies somewhere to the north, invisible now but unmistakable even unseen, its vast absence a reminder that daybreak up here must be nothing short of soul-stealing.To the south, Manhattan glows in layered density, towers lit like constellations stacked on top of one another.

I didn’t pay attention to that the last time I was here because I was spending all my time looking at Daisy.

“Welcome back, sir,” a man says, stepping into the foyer.He’s tall, probably early sixties and if his crisp British accent didn’t give it away, his formal suit and polished air did.

This must be the proverbial butler.

“Hi, Percy,” Julian says warmly.“Mr.McAvoy will be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Percy gives a slight bow of acknowledgment.“I shall instruct the staff to add another place setting.”

Julian leads us toward the dining area, which anchors the room in a way that feels deliberate rather than decorative.The table is long and oval, seating for twenty, crafted from pale stone with a smooth, matte finish that reflects the ambient light without shining.Its base is sculptural and solid—brushed metal in a warm champagne tone that gives the piece weight without heaviness.

Suspended above it, multiple pendant lights hang at staggered heights, each formed of clustered, gold-toned leaves or petals that catch the glow along their edges.Beyond that, a massive fireplace crackles, flames licking upward in deep orange and yellow.

“Sit,” Julian gestures to a chair, and then helps Svetlana into one.“Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

The meal borders on obscene.The turkey is carved and re-carved, slices fanned across the platter, almost ceremonial in nature.The skin crackles under the knife, bronze and lacquered, and the meat underneath is so tender it barely resists.Stuffing spills out in rich, fragrant mounds—dense with sausage, onions cooked down until sweet, herbs like sage and thyme.Butter glistens everywhere.The gravy is dark and glossy, pooling thick and perfect over mashed potatoes whipped so smooth they barely hold shape.

Every bite is indulgent.

This is more than a typical Thanksgiving dinner.It’s proof of power, of control, of someone who refuses to do anything halfway.

Conversation is light, mostly carried by Svetlana and Julian, but I answer accordingly when addressed.The food is delicious and I’m surprised I’m able to savor it given how listless I’ve been feeling.I decline dessert because there’s no room and I don’t want to hang around until my stomach is empty enough to accommodate.More importantly, Julian is on a date and I don’t want to intrude any more.

Julian surprises me when he turns to Svetlana.

“Would you mind letting me talk to Grizz in private?I won’t be long.”

Svetlana smiles, inclining her head graciously.“Of course not”

Julian rises from the table and I follow suit.“Come,” he says.“Let’s talk.”

He leads me up a curved staircase to the next floor and into his office.A fire crackles low in a stone hearth, and it amazes me that it’s lit.I mean… how did he know he’d be working in here tonight?I’m assuming a staff person has it ready just in case the boss wants to step in here for a few minutes.Floor-to-ceiling French windows frame the city and the walls are paneled in dark walnut.A massive rectangular desk of honed black stone sits centered on a woven silk rug, paired with a single high-backed leather chair.Bookshelves heavy with leather-bound volumes and a few sculptural objects, but interestingly… no personal photographs.An office is usually where you’d have images of loved ones, but there’s nothing.

Julian moves to a wet bar built into the wall and pours whiskey into two cut-crystal tumblers and hands one to me.

“How’s your father?”he asks.

The question catches me off guard.

I stare at him.“You… know about that?”

He doesn’t blink.“I know my players.”

I take a breath, steadying myself.“He’s… better.My sister and I made some hard decisions recently.”I swallow.“He’s in care now.Real care.It took a lot of pressure off both of us.”

Julian nods once.“Sometimes the best result isn’t healing,” he says.“It’s peace.”

The fire pops.The room breathes.“For him, I guess, yeah, it is.”I glance toward the hallway.“She seems… good company,” I say.“Svetlana.”

Julian huffs a humorless laugh.“She’s pleasant.Intelligent.Beautiful.”