James adjusted his glasses, a slow, deliberate movement. He had found the manuscript tucked away in a drawer—a secret treasure. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. This was going to be fun. He sank further into the armchair, his shoulders relaxing.
The story’s heroine, a brilliant but socially inept astrophysicist, was, unsurprisingly, based on him. The descriptions of his quirky habits, the way he got lost in thought while staring at the stars, the awkward way he tried to flirt… it was all so accurate. He chuckled, a genuine, heartfelt sound.
He reached for a glass of scotch, swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully. He hadn't known his wife, Sarah, thought so much of him. The fictionalized conflict, a misunderstanding about a research grant, mirrored a minor disagreement they'd had last year. He had been portrayed as a misunderstood genius, she, the slightly overbearing but ultimately supportive spouse. He took a long, slow sip. How delightful.
The warmth that spread through him wasn’t just the scotch; it was something deeper, a feeling of validation, of being truly understood and appreciated. He closed the laptop, a decision made. He couldn't wait to see her reaction.